#threads to grasp and follow.. etc.

[charmac]

14.02 / 15.08 / 16.07

Mac making his own decisions, because Dennis told him to.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Kafka

[glystenangel]

Hi! I would love to request a Sukuna x Sorcerer Reader oneshot where the reader gets called in to help to fight against Sukuna. When the reader arrives to fight, Sukuna took a liking towards her and flirts with her while fighting. Also, this would be enemies to lovers, smut and romance, a spicy vibe to it, and I'm okay with you posting this oneshot publicly ^^ - ☀️💖👑

In the Heat of Battle

Sukuna x Sorceror&Afab!Reader

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, everything in the ask but also i did this in a historical au bc...i like them, sitting in a hot spring with sukuna, SEX, cunnilingus, degradation/praise, edging😇, dirty talk, cussing, ridin', bratty reader, cumeating, sukunas got his 4 arms, half smut half fluff, i get a bit philosophical in the middle sorry, mentions of murder, injuries, and blood, etc.

~ 10k i got a lil too excited mayhaps bc this is not oneshot length but whatever

thanks for requesting, i hope you like<3

_________________

Fighting a curse like Sukuna meant you were lucky to be alive for this long.

Of course, you never had much need for luck.

“Ooh, so close.” Sukuna laughs into an effortless dodge, so agile that you can feel the air gliding underneath your palm for an irritatingly brief moment.

His voice is deep and so closely threaded with power the entire town practically shudders with the sound. 

“I’ll get you next time.” You spit, gritting your teeth and preparing yourself for the next series of attacks.

Sukuna opens his hands wide, “You can have me anytime you want.”

Ever since you got called into battle, your opponent took it upon himself to flirt with you more than he fought with you. Even as you beat him to a pulp, he would persist. It was nothing short of maddening.

You glare at him, cursed energy coursing through you as you ready yourself once more, “Shut up already!”

“Hm,” He licks the ivory tip on one of his canines with a rough stroke of his tongue, as if savoring the threat, “Happy to have a pretty girl like you shut me up too.”

“I’ll shut you up for good, and you won’t like how I do it. Trust me.”

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re good, but good enough to beat me? Be honest with yourself-”

Before he can finish, the cursed spirit’s neck is in your hands and you’re relishing the way his pupils shrink in alarm at your successful grab. Despite his shock, Sukuna manages to minimize any possible damage by dragging you with him as his body is forced backwards from the impact of your ambush. The instinctive maneuver is enough to pull you into the wall with him.

Rubble from the area you and Sukuna crash into cascades around your fallen figures. The fear of injury stings through your body, and you only register it when you instinctively push out your arms to get yourself back on your feet.

“Not so fast.” Sukuna’s arms entangle you again, and you belatedly realize he had landed beside you. 

He also rises to his feet more quickly than you can, pinning you to the chalky remains of the wall and sneering at your frantic clawing along the tops of his knuckles.

You hazily hear the gravelly reverberation of Sukuna’s laughter, and return to the rest of your senses, “Get the fuck off me!”

“Watch your temper.” 

He keeps you in his grip with his four arms, and you continue to struggle in their collective grasp. The veins of his arms are tense and pronounced from the rest of his olive skin.

“...And your modesty.” He pinches the hem of your collar between a few fingers, the tease emphasized by the slide of fabric across your skin. 

The heat that follows the motion enrages you.

Sukuna looks down at you with continued bemusement, and you follow his line of sight to find your shirt ripped open.

There’s a slight wrinkle in his nose that indents into the small black slash across it, and it’s caused by the smug expression on Sukuna’s face. His grin seems to have a cunning bite to it, and the corners perfectly complement the shape of his jaw.

As much as you hate to admit it, he has a nice smile. Nice enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Too bad you had to get rid of it.

Wrestling him to the ground, the impact leaves you breathless and a loud ringing enters your ears subsequent to you rolling yourself onto your back. You must have slammed your head, because you can feel the back of your scalp becoming sore. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your fellow sorcerers retreating and collecting the wounded. After your requested arrival, you had been exchanging violent maneuvers with Sukuna for what felt like hours.

In reality, you know that it probably hadn’t been any more than 10 minutes since you tackled the curse and began delivering blows with your curse abilities. 

Everything is on fire.

You have to finish the job.

“Looks like you hurt yourself pretty good.” You hear through your blurring vision, “Can you keep going?”

What?

Part of you strains to hear, and the other half retains enough instinct to push away Sukuna’s broad shoulders as he approaches.

You’re still trying to land attacks as your consciousness fades and he catches each one, making you resist even more and inadvertently expend your remaining energy.

“Stop. You’re cute for trying but don't.” He snarls.

A nice, square blow to his cheek grants you some satisfaction as you finally lose consciousness.

_________________

When you wake up, dozens of local sorcerers and townspeople are flocked to your side and hurriedly checking your vitals from where you lay on the ground.

“How long was I out?”

“About a minute.” A villager answers, dusting the debris off of your clothes.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” You brush them off, the pounding in your head matching the one in your chest.

Although dazed, you scan beyond the crowd for any trace of Sukuna.

“He’s gone, don’t worry.” Someone says.

Even so, you contine to look for him.

Though you’re not sure why.

_________________

In spite of your bewilderment, you continue to search for Sukuna throughout the days succeeding the fight.

However, he seems to be searching for you too.

As luck would have it, he finds you first.

_________________

You dunk your wounds in the warm water, trying to relax into the hot spring and let the steam clear your mind.

Thanks to a healing sorcerer named Shoko, most of your wounds were able to be skillfully closed up, but they seem to still ache as though they were fresh.

So, you had ventured into the woods to the secret hot spring you had found years ago. The countryside was littered with them, and this one was your favorite due to the privacy brought by the trees and the soothing temperature. You were convinced that it had some sort of healing properties due to the mineral content that clouded the water, but you didn’t expend too much thought on that theory.

No one else seems to know about it either, so you trust the serenity of your secret hiding place enough to rest your head on the rocks and drift off.

As sleep begins to kiss your eyelids, a nearby rustle has them snapping back. You freeze, not wanting any splashing to alert the possible intruder.

Breathing slowly, you scrutinize the area that appears to be the source of the noise. You feel your battle worn joints scream in protest, but your gut instinct tells you that you may have to prepare to defend yourself.

The shadows of the trees drag over a tall figure, and your eyes widen at the familiar outline.

“Oh shit.”

Your thoughts mirror the words delivered by that unmistakable voice ingrained in your recent memory.

It’s Sukuna.

He has a bruise trailing along his jawline, and you recognize the blooms of purple as your handiwork among the other scrapes and scars dotting his person. It seems most of them have healed less neatly than yours have. Sukuna takes a step forward, and you note that he has a limp in his gait. The robes he wears are clean however, ivory and slate gray in color, seemingly too pure for someone as malicious as him. He rotates his neck and shoulders, the movement of those broad muscles prompting the stretch and pull of his pecs. His eyes stay trained on yours, the color of autumn leaves burning into your wary hues. Even with his obvious injuries, his presence brings chills to your body. He still looks strong. 

The sudden appearance has you ducking lower into the misty water with a not so subtle splash.

“Don’t look!”

You internally wince at your unplanned plea, expecting him to laugh or roll his eyes, but it only makes him pause.

The struggling rise and fall of your chest becomes ignored as you make out his face through the steam, which lacks emotion or mercy of any sort. 

Then, he covers his eyes with a large hand draped over the bridge of his nose.

“Okay.” Sukuna says, the agreement is accommodating yet inflected with a nonchalance that forces you to blink hard.

Another silence falls over you both, and you place a hand on one of the stones bordering the pool. Tufts of grass poke between the coarse gray, and you can feel a few get caught under your knuckle white grip.

You can’t fight him like this, so you have half a mind to run.

The thought is interrupted when the curse speaks again, “Can I come in?”

The ask jolts you back into that perilous place between fight or flight, “No fucking way!”

“I’ll keep my eyes to myself, promise.” 

No irony laces his speech, and true to his word, his eyes remain covered. 

Before you can retort, he says again, “Besides, I don’t think either of us are in any condition to fight…you more so than me. Don’t you agree?”

His lips move beneath the curve of his hand, and you follow the shape of them with little interest. They’re split with a line of scabbed blood, and his hand has green bruising patched over the back of it.

He somehow looks worse than you do. 

“I don’t think you’re in any condition to insult me either.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The water continues to rush over your body, and you feel it easing the tension within. Nature eroding every facet of pain into smooth relief. 

It would be a first for you to share such consolation.

“Fine. But, don’t come near me. Or look.” You acquiesce, though just in case you assume a stance that resembles offense somewhat.

Honestly, you feel ridiculous.

Sukuna smiles widely, and then he continues walking until he senses the edge of the water by the heat on the bottoms of his feet. You briefly shield your own eyes when he disrobes, and he slips into the opposite side of the spring so gracefully you wonder if he’s secretly peeking through his fingers. His sheer mass displaces some of the liquid, and it hits your shoulders as he settles in.

Once he’s waist deep, and to your surprise, he turns away to rest his chin over crossed arms. His other two arms swim through the spring, feeling what little current there was running across his palms.

Feeling awkward, you do the same, but periodically look back to see if he wasn’t going to rip your heart out from behind.

His back is lined with deep grooves of strength and the dark marks tattooed onto his skin, water puddling over the dips and then spreading thin into glossy sheens as it evaporates.

Your throat wets with saliva at the magnificent view.

Every part of Sukuna seems perfectly sculpted to fight and conquer. A sadistic culmination of poetry in motion.

You examine your own figure wrought with power and evidence of your training. The same water decorating him was lapping at you too.

An even match, you think.

“You’re being awfully quiet, getting dirty thoughts about me already?”

The croon shifts your focus, and you whip around to flick water between his shoulder blades. The shot hits its target, though he hardly seems to register the miniscule shot.

What an annoying guy.

“Hey. Don’t make me come over there.”

“I’d like to see you try.” You roll your eyes and return your sights to the treeline when you sense movement behind you.

As soon as your peripheral picks up on Sukuna rushing towards you, you manage to lift your hands in time to catch Sukuna’s.

Large globs of water hang off of the thick elbows he hoists into the air, the liquid trickling down to his ribs and then rippling the surrounding water. His height is nothing short of monstrous as you glower at the smirking curse.

Moisture is also loosely braided into his petal hued hair, which glistens in the sunlight before fading into a dark, cropped shadow around his ears and above his neck. He looks…different up close and without the rigid aura of battle.

Your fingers interlock tightly together, no words easing the moment. Speaking seems impossible, and the prolonged clasp has you swallowing hard.

The stare Sukuna uses to capture your eyes is unreadable. Every secret you’ve ever held seems to be pulled nearer, threads sinking into the garnet depths like those fabled red strings of fate. However after scanning down your neck and then back up to your face, a satisfied glint emerges.

“That’s what I thought.” He tuts, as if disappointed, “You humans have no conviction. Pathetic little creatures.”

With that, he lets out a wolfish chuckle and releases you. The amusement fades in the air as he goes back to his previous seat, the broad shape of his back facing away from you once more.

The silence holds for a while, just the gurgle of water and occasional slosh from you or Sukuna cupping water over yourselves.

Only the damned curse behind you seems to like taking the lead in breaking each quiet stretch of time.

“So, you really gonna kill me?” 

You sigh, running a hand over your cheek, “I hope so.”

“Don’t you want to get it over with? I’m right here.”

You chance another glance at him from over your shoulder, resting your temple on a fist.

Sukuna doesn’t move. You can’t see his face or imagine what kind of expression is laid across it.

All you see are the slashes you inflicted upon him, and the slightly pink scars beneath from past sorcerers who died in their attempts to rid the world of Sukuna’s terror once and for all.

As if he can feel where you’re gawking, he scratches the spot with a long black nail and lets out a discontent mumble.

Oddly enough, you find him both pitiful and loathsome. He won’t live for much longer, and surviving that final brawl certainly won’t leave you untouched. Once you take his life, you highly doubt that you’ll be able to keep yours for much longer after that.

There is an intimacy in knowing that you’ll die with someone. That you will be the last person each one will feel under each other’s hands and see as you draw the same, last breath.

Because of that, you find that you can’t look at him anymore.

“I don’t want it to be like this.” You finally admit, cutting the disdain from your voice and tapping the top of a stone.

The smile on his countenance is something you swear you can hear now, “We’ll keep this a secret then, yeah?”

“What secret?”

“This place, stupid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well, you’re acting like it. Now me? If I were you, I would’ve reached over and snapped my neck. Injuries be damned. I get it though, must be that so-called honor you humans adore indulging in. Can’t say it hasn’t infected me unfortunately, I didn’t really feel like finishing you off after you hit your head either. It would’ve been an empty victory. Pretty lame way to get out of it if I’m being honest.”

You tilt your head with a squint, searching for his eyes again and finding them as he drops his head back to send you a cheeky simper. 

“Just saying.”

You tear away from him, sinking into the water before rising again to rearrange the soaked strands of your hair.

“I won’t kill you, yet.”

“Well then,” Sukuna preens, derision oozing into his cadence, “I’m looking forward to your next attempt.”

_________________

You and Sukuna begin to meet there consistently.

Just until you heal, you promise yourself.

It isn’t even as though every meeting is on purpose, he just so happens to be in the area when you are.

A wordless, regular cadence where you bathe and Sukuna does the same, except you stay back to back.

At first, you don’t break apart the silences by bringing up sorcerers or most other related circumstances, it just comes off much too taboo.

You also didn’t want to give him any advantages for future fights.

So, you talk about everything else.

What the clouds are shaped like, his philosophies on the world, your hometown.

Sukuna knew quite a lot, you suppose due to his years spent roaming the country.

It makes you more and more curious about how he came to be what he is. You try to not address it, but it gnaws at you. Dancing at the tip of your tongue.

He seems to feel the same way, being quite frank and open with his own questions and replies.

Despite your efforts, one day Sukuna offhandedly mentions that he was once a sorcerer.

Just like you.

_________________

“All you sorcerers are the same. You lie to yourselves and everyone around you.” He rolls a pebble between his fingers and occasionally tosses it in the air.

You can see it arc over the top of his head, plummet down and start again. Sukuna had begun this cycle as soon as you had said something he disagreed with, likely something banal and harmless like how helping the weak is what sorcerers do.

“You make so many baseless assumptions, do you ever get tired of jumping to conclusions so often?”

“Baseless?” The pebble falls and he swipes it into his hand, “Not at all. I used to be a sorcerer, so I can make all the fucking assumptions I would like.”

That piques your full interest.

You openly stare at him now, ignoring the pounding in your ears from such an arbitrary, shared confession.

“So why do you do it?”

“What?”

“Everything.”

He shrugs, and it’s all loose heaves of muscle in that small gesture.

“I want power.”

“For what?”

“Same reason anyone probably does. Isn’t that why you’re a sorcerer? For power to do with what you want?”

He crosses his arms behind his head, leaning to look at you as he rests back on the woven appendages.

The insinuation makes you press your lips together before speaking.

“Yes, but not like you. You kill innocent people, sorcerers and nonsorcerers alike, and you show complete disregard for them. It’s hateful.”

“I don’t hate them,” Sukuna meets your eyes, and you dutifully ignore the burning scarlet held within them, “They’re just in my way. Plus, innocence is subjective. Don’t act like sorcerers or humans you know haven’t thought the same. Done even worse.”

“Well, not on the mass scale you have.”

“Not that you know of.” He scoffs.

“Do you know? Since you used to be a sorcerer and seem to know every goddamn thing about it-”

“I know because I killed those sons of bitches years ago.” His hands fall back into the water, “Look, I’m no saint, we’ve established that. But is having strength so evil? Sorcerers and curses know what that answer is, we’re just waiting to see who will get out of the way first. After that, who knows what will happen. Whoever wins will decide what is considered right, and that’ll be it.”

Sukuna hums in thought, and then rolls his shoulders back with a grumble.

“Whether that includes heart or morals, who fucking cares. The definitions keep changing anyway.”

You scowl at his aloof attitude, “I like the kinder definitions.”

The rebuttal has Sukuna’s nose scrunching with revulsion, “No offense, but there’s hundreds completely different from it. Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” 

The argument comes out like your heart bared between your teeth.

Sukuna is firm as he looks down his nose at you, “You aren’t the world.”

As if you expected him to say otherwise.

Even so, the snide point hits its mark, “I never said I was. I’m no saint either, but I like to think the world can be much more than you described.”

“It’s not. This is all we got.” He opens his hands wide, and the sun weaves through his fingers.

Flashes of verdant trees and distant villages scattered below snow capped mountain tops dance across the edges of his arms.

Unspeakable beauty that you swore to protect.

“It’s all you’ve got.”

You raise your chin, absorbing the outlines of the villages before whipping your head back to the grimacing curse.

“You’re right, we’re going to constantly be keeping the balance between sorcerers, humans, and curses. It’s precarious and annoying as all hell, but these are people’s lives. You may think they’re weak, but to know the world is terrible and yet choose to live among all of the curse related incidents and regular bullshit anyway is power. And what are you doing? Sure, what are some sorcerers doing? Preying on that bravery while hiding behind some preconceived notion of what power really is and what it should give them. You may try to twist your logic into justifying that humans are in the way or useless to the overall battle between stronger forces outside of their control, but my god is that not fucking exhausting and pointless as well? That’s great for you if you don’t mind it, but I do. Kill, don’t kill. If it truly doesn’t matter- If it’s all the same, why do any of it? Why choose to intentionally perpetuate more suffering if it’s going to happen without your help? You’re just- It’s fucking despicable, you know that?”

Anger burns the back of your throat and flushes your forehead with thin perspiration. 

“Maybe,” You finally say, “Yes, we are the same. I’ve done awful, irreversible things. Killed when it wasn’t necessary, but I still try. I want to keep trying to be better for the people who deserve it. Like this village. Can you understand that?”

The water stills with a silence so palpable you can feel it pressing on your chest. The spray of steam relieves little tension with its hushed puffs into the solemn, thickened air.

You don’t say anything more, and eventually Sukuna leaves the hot spring.

_________________

He doesn’t return for days.

You don’t mind it.

In fact, you hope it stays that way.

You entertain the thought with a smile, ruffling the ends of your hair to shake the water out.

The amusement follows you as you walk through the forest back home, but then you hear a noise in the trees.

“Sukuna?”

As soon as you say the name, you cover your mouth as if you’ve just accidentally uttered a secret meant only for the dead to hear. Your shoulders tense up by your ears, and you stop in the middle of the forest floor. You wait, doing your best to listen past the chirp of birds and the overbearing rhythm in your chest.

The wind is the only answer you get, however, so you manage to relax until you hear a twig snap.

You jerk your head around, and that’s when the air rushes out of your chest.

Of course, it’s him.

It’s always him.

You’re beginning to toy with the idea that this forest is haunted by an emptiness, save for you two.

“Hi.” 

Sukuna waves in a casual manner more adjacent to two friends who had unexpectedly run into each other at the market rather than a curse and the sorcerer tasked with hunting him.

“What?” You glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s very nice to see you too.”

That cheeky comment makes you roll your eyes, “Move or speak, I don’t care which one you choose.”

“You’re so scary, you know that?” He leans in close, showing all of his teeth and mimicking curling his fingers into claws around his jaw.

Another glare.

“Fine, fine.” Sukuna throws his hands up in exasperation, and then scratches the top of his head.

“Yes?”

The curse rolls his shoulders back, shifting his weight between his feet.

He seems…nervous. But that can’t be right.

The uncertain revelation is startled out of your mind by his next few words, “I was thinking about what you said. You were right.”

The words rush out in jilted succession, like he forced them to escape before he held them in for the rest of his days.

You can only stare at him, and his eyes seem stuck on yours. Like he’s searching for something akin to approval.

“A child was lost in the woods here yesterday. I came across it and…it asked if I was a bear.” He laughs at the memory, and the sound of it without any sort of mirth or irony was unnervingly pleasant and normal.

“Such a feisty little thing, calling me a rude beast and demanding a piggyback ride home to their mother. Since, according to the kid, she would be sad that they got eaten by an ugly bear. It reminded me of what you said. Humans do everything they can to live despite unfathomable conditions. It’s a power many curses lack-”

“What did you do with the child?”

You know of one local boy that matched that description, Megumi Fushigurou, all sass and adorable chubby cheeks with a penchant for berry picking in the forest until sundown and his mother feared he was lost.

“I carried it back to the village, the damn thing complained the whole way but we made it safe and sound.” Sukuna rubs the back of his neck with disdain hissing out from his canines, “Did I mention it’s a pretty convincing power?”

You swallow in epiphany, he wasn’t lying.

You had seen the little boy with his mother earlier in the day. The village hadn’t had any cases of missing residents or violent crimes for a while either.

You don’t know how Sukuna manages to read your face, but he steps forward close enough to make your breath hitch. 

“I’m apologizing, if you couldn’t tell.” He rests a hand on top of your head, a heavy warmth that matches the sudden softness of his tone.

“I’m…trying. Just like you.”

The touch is brief due to Sukuna retracting it as soon as you register the weight of his palm. Your vision startles to the curse above you, and it becomes instantly captivated.

Every inhale is noticeable, the taut expanse of his chest rising and falling more delicately than you would have guessed for a murderer like him.

Sukuna’s lashes almost brush the structured perch of his cheeks when he looks at you, and you turn on your heel as soon as the sight breaches your field of vision.

Something about how unexpectedly pretty Sukuna is always causes your stomach to churn.

“Denial goes a long way.” You shrug, and the robe you donned earlier slips off one of your shoulders, “But, you’re welcome.”

You can feel Sukuna following the fall of fabric with his eyes, “Yes, thank you.”

“Thank you too…for listening, even though I was kind of mean.”

“You’re welcome, I needed to hear it.”

Before you can help it, you peer at him from over your exposed shoulder and fail to tug the corners of your lips down to neutralize your expression.

“Does this mean you’ll stop being a murdering, pillaging asshole?”

“Maybe.” He grins and opens his arms wide, “Will you?”

You’re punching him in a heartbeat, and he guffaws so loud and openly that your resolve drops in your stomach.

It’s uncertain whether it was only for a moment then, or completely.

_________________

Sorcerers are crowded around a table, pounding its surface and causing the paper maps strewn across to crinkle and fly.

The meeting had started almost two hours ago, and both you and the elder sitting at the head of the conference looked exhausted by the possibility of being there for another second.

“He’s been too quiet.” One says, staring at the inked out rivers and mountains surrounding the town.

“Thank her for that.” Another juts his thumb at you, and you lean forward to feign biting it off before he flinches his hand back into his lap.

“We haven’t gotten any attacks since you fought him.” He mumbles, and you sit up at that fact.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we have nothing to go on. Because you didn’t finish the job, he probably fucking left.”

You blankly stare at him, and he shies away in embarrassment after the elder speaks up.

“That’s not true. The surrounding villages haven’t had any incidents. He must still be here. Laying low.”

You process the statements and theories, your mind spinning.

Right. Laying low.

Nodding along to the shouts and conversations, you pretend to agree while imagining Sukuna’s laugh.

His eyes shut in contentment while his head is thrown back and his hands clutching at his stomach or chest, the sun filtering through his hair and skirting over the immaculate planes of his face.

You can picture it so well you could practically reach out and touch him. Memorizing his features had been part of your mission while hunting for him, but lately your mind was beginning to conjure so many more different images of him than before.

Not just how he looks, but how he smells and feels. The way water and the forest laps at the tattoos on his skin.

A calming, yet incredibly distinct combination of senses.

One you hope sparks more spite the next time the curse crosses your mind.

The knowledge that Sukuna’s death is your duty simmers your temper as the sorcerers around you bicker.

You don’t grasp any desire within you to have anyone else involved.

“Calm yourselves,” You shake your head, “He’s laying low, but no one can hide forever. I’m already tracking him.”

_________________

Time only continues to pass in that perfect, little bubble you and Sukuna have created for yourselves.

The entire experience is bringing you a puzzling agony you grow less and less tolerant of.

Physically, you heal quicker than expected, and Sukuna only continues to become bolder and bolder following his own healing.

“You seem upset today.”

“Not.” The answer leaves you as forcefully as the clumps of grass you’ve been pulling out of the ground while sitting on the edge of the hot spring.

Your feet agitatedly swirl in the water, and you flick another handful of blades off to the side.

“So you are.” He wades over to you, and you place a protective hand on the hem of your robe resting across your thigh.

The act only makes him grin, so you return your focus to the decimated plants under your other palm. However,  you soon yelp in surprise when Sukuna dives head first into the water and then suddenly resurfaces between your knees.

He wraps his fingers around the curve of your thigh, “Need some relief? You being more of a brat than usual is really getting on my nerves.”

“I’m not mad. Just thinking.” You huff, sounding immensely angry.

Sukuna only seems to register the fact that you’re staying under his touch, and he sinks in his nails a bit. Not enough to draw blood, just to test the bounce of your skin and how the water transfers from his touch.

The warm water glosses over the plush of your legs, and to your horror, Sukuna bends down to observe the shifting luster more closely, the swell of his bottom lip drawing heat as it hovers near your core.

It suddenly feels too hot.

The hunger in his eyes isn’t lost on you when he tilts his head up. You didn’t know rose petals could bloom away from the earth, but the crimson of Sukuna’s eyes begs you to reconsider. Once he seems to have his fill of your shaky gaze, he ducks his head back to your lap.

“Normally, it’s kind of cute when you’re upset.” His thumbs rub circles all the way beneath your clothing and up to your hips.

The motion only ignites more fire in you, “But I’m getting concerned. The forest won’t survive if you keep tearing it up like that.”

A chuckle is imprinted in the kiss he presses to the top of your thigh, and you let out a gasp so close to a whispery soft whimper that you pray to the gods Sukuna didn’t hear it.

“I can help you feel better.” Rumbles of dark desire coat the purr of his throat as his lips tread inward, “You sound like you want to. Am I wrong?”

He heard.

Then, in one swift motion, he hoists your calves over his shoulders, and water is streaming off of his body and down the lines of his chin as his eyes meet yours.

Every drop racing down his figure incites petty jealousy in you. You want to touch him. Not in any familiar, destructive way you have previously. Gently and sinfully, with languid licks to the crevices of muscle gathering water. You want to feel his body twitch and contract, and how he groans at the rugged texture of your tongue. Your throat hollows in response to that epiphany, and then it becomes saturated with ill controlled saliva. 

At that, you swing your legs off of him, and he catches you in the crook of one of his arms as you attempt to scramble to your feet.

“Get away from me!”

The hissed out words indicate otherwise, as neither of you escape from your holds on each other.

Sukuna’s hand is bracing your forearm, and he has others wrapped around one of your ankles, on the small of your back. 

Every point of contact absolutely burns.

“You hate me, don’t you?” 

The word hate seems to have a poison specifically sharpened for your conscience.

But the answer doesn’t come to mind.

You should know the answer.

It should be easy, laughably so, rather than something bitter choking your throat.

Where did it go? Where did it leave you?

“You still do.”

It’s not an accusation from him this time, more of a wounded statement.

Murky silence is the only companion to his words, and you offer no other to join them.

Once Sukuna’s grip loosens, you manage to steady yourself and leave.

_________________

The forest clearing greets you with the chirps of crickets and birds the next time you manage to drag yourself back.

Even the bubbling of the hot spring is lively, the steam coating the air and any bare skin you have exposed.

You wait beside it in your everyday attire, needing some semblance of a barrier between you and Sukuna if he ever chose to make his appearance. The loose fitting fabric was thicker than your bathing robes, but less rigid and formal than your sorcerer uniform.

You had spent some time over the passing days to toil over your last conversation with the curse. Sukuna’s question concerning the hatred you held for him being the major thought occupying your mind.

The answer was actually quite obvious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it any louder than the soft echo in your head yet.

Practicing it seems pathetic, but when you open your mouth to try Sukuna is striding towards you.

He has no humor in his face, all harsh corners and lines, but that entire demeanor vanishes upon seeing you stand and give him a hesitant wave in greeting.

“What’s this?” Sukuna approaches close enough to pinch the fine cloth gathered at your elbow, “You know I like what I see, you don’t have to cover up.”

The contact makes you flinch away, and a tortured look knits Sukuna’s eyebrows together.

He backs up, holding up his hands and covering up his expression with a half hearted smile.

You never thought your chest would ache at any hint of him being unhappy.

“Okay, okay. Tell you what. Kill me if you’d like.” He bargains, running a hand through his hair, “I know you hate me.”

That word again.

So much bite and emotion to it that it floods your chest with the fresh sting of tears.

“I can’t hate you!”

The outburst forces Sukuna back, and the impact seems to force his eyes wide open. 

You swallow your next few words, rethink them, swallow again.

Finally, they crawl out of your chest, “At least, not anymore.”

Truthfully you had always been better with your fists than your words, and you had never wished for the opposite until now.

Sukuna seems to register your claim, but remains silent.

You think he’s going to say something, bracing yourself for it by sweeping your eyes to the tree tops and then to the pebbles speckling the ground.

Still, Sukuna is silent.

The air becomes colder, blades of grass and your shoulders trembling. A desperation deep seated within you blooms in one last attempt to escape this mortifying mess.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

A passive stretch of time is the only response you get.

Motherfucker.

As if your own shame and embarrassment wasn’t enough.

Lunging at him, your hands encase his neck with a strangled sound of utter frustration.

You have your full strength now.

You could kill him now.

Then, Sukuna places his hands over yours.

Instead of tensing, you relax completely.

He runs his thumbs over your knuckles, tempering the rage encased inside.

The sentiment in his eyes is far too soft for the murderous narrowing of your own.

It’s as infuriating as it is endearing. 

You catch yourself wondering why you hold the power here, but it feels hopelessly lost when Sukuna holds you like this.

One of his hands travels across your arm, finding home in the cup of your cheek.

There it is again, his thumb stroking your skin like the shining facet of a jewel he can’t quite yet catch in the light. A breeze follows the placating touch, and you can’t tell which causes you to shiver.

He sighs, so defeated and low that you feel it mirrored in the tightness of your chest.

“If I say something…We’ll do something.”

The words ghost across his lips in the sweetest mumble you’ve ever heard. 

You blink distractedly at the movement of his mouth, pink flesh moving over white teeth, “Do what?”

Saliva pools under your tongue, and you bite down on the swell of your bottom lip to suppress the gnawing appetite rising in your stomach. 

His stare falters, his lashes fluttering down with peeks of ardent vermillion between, and then falls to the ground wordlessly.

You feel the comforting weight of it dissipate, and suddenly you’re weaker than before.

“Can you-” Your hands falter, lowering to grab at the collar of his clothing, the fabric clumping in your wobbly hands, “Just show me?”

Sukuna deftly reaches back, placing his hands along your hips and pulling you close.

You can sense fire pulsing under your skin as he continues in deliberate, measured fragments. His eyes never leave yours, all dilated pupils and honeyed warmth. He cups your lower back, the fabric beneath his palms shifting.

Gradually, he starts inching them up the sides of your waist. Squeezing and gripping portions of your curves with airy hums of thought.

You can’t breathe. 

This silence is more purposeful than the last.

You both know what it implies, though Sukuna seems intent on making that knowledge undeniably transparent.

The kiss arrives as your eyes flutter shut, and Sukuna’s lips on yours taste like mutual devastation.

He tilts his head, the kiss deepening and unfurling butterflies in your stomach.

You lightly bite down on his bottom lip before swiping your tongue across the achingly soft surface, and he immediately grants you access with a low groan. 

You don’t want to fight anymore. You want to surrender.

Curious hands roam along your body as the kiss deepens, stroking your cheek, the back of your neck and encircling your torso.

For someone so feared and strong, he possesses an astonishing gentleness that any prior replication of affection you’ve ever received now seems poor and revolting.

The tips of his fingertips skirt the hems of your clothing, and then they’re against bare skin. Soft tugs have your robes sliding down, and you gasp as the frigid temperature of air raises goosebumps over your skin. Chills kiss at your shoulder blades and up to the back of your neck.

Sukuna draws back, hooking his fingers into the fabric slung across his shoulder as he drags it over his head and reveals the familiar lines of muscle carved into his sides. The latter disappears into his pants, which reveals the tented mound between his legs. Despite the brief interruption, he presses you close to his chest the instant his top half is free from the restrictive material.

And he kisses you.

Kiss after kiss after kiss.

You occasionally flit your eyes open between locks of tongue and curse words stuck to the roof of your mouth, only to squeeze your eyes shut from enduring Sukuna firmly grabbing fistfuls of your hair.

His nails lightly graze your scalp, and he alternates between rough tugs and careful consolations down the back of your neck. 

“I’ve never desired anyone or anything more than you.” He pants, and you wince at the desperate rasp of the declaration.

Your pussy is sapped with want, and your hips sway when he rests his hands past them.

“Fuck.” Sukuna sighs, fondling the soft mounds of your ass in his palms.

He spreads them apart, and a jolt of adrenaline shoots up your spine.

“You flinched.” He chuckles, biting your ear lobe.

The electricity in the point of his canine nicking your skin has you throwing your arms around his neck, and you hide in the nape of his neck with a whimper.

Sukuna acknowledges the sound by carefully holding up your wrists one by one and then rolling your sleeves up to your forearms to undress you. The abandoned robes petal around your ankles onto the forest floor, and Sukuna returns your arms to crossing behind his neck.

He tilts his head, his eyes simmering as they rake over your bare skin,” Well, look at you.” 

Your elbows lock as your knees buckle, a sequence of motion vastly contrasting the vexed way you had gripped his neck only moments ago.

Sukuna catches you instinctively, hoisting your legs around his waist and clasping you to his front.

Your pussy drools at the flush of rigid heat pressed in the middle of your thighs, and you can hear Sukuna licking his lips as his hips support your weight, “Can you take it? I’m sure you can.”

The curve of his neck hides your face, but you know he can feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks when you stare down the scars of his back to see him tucking a thumb into his waistband.

The empty pocket between his skin and his pants only becomes more revealing, and you swallow as his entire frame soon becomes bare.

Sukuna keeps you settled close against his body, even when the cotton threads you sopped with your arousal get tugged away from you.

Then, you’re skin to skin.

You can sense his hardness before you even get a glimpse.

“F…fuck.”

The word is breathy and pained in your ear, and your own mouth falls open in a soundless gasp.

Every touch is scorching and placating at the same time, like every nerve in your body is perked and alert. So sensitive and ready that no point of contact goes unrecognized.

You want more. Need more. You can feel the ask escape your lips even as the thought fogs your mind.

The tops of your thighs are molded together by Sukuna’s heavy grip around them, and you use that to leverage your hips forward and back.

The bottom of your slit kisses the base of his cock as the length of it throbs against your stomach, and you slot your tongue into Sukuna’s mouth with reckless abandon.

“You-” Sukuna begins, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, “Are so cute like this. All desperate and needy.”

“Shut up.” You reply simply, sucking at the corner of his mouth with continued fervor.

The meaningless command has him chuckling, but then the back of your neck is wrapped in his palm.

“Sure, I’ll shut you up.”

He deepens the kiss the next time his cupid’s bow meets your own, and your mind is so fuzzy you hardly register that Sukuna has carried you into the hot spring.

The humid heat of it rises along your waist, and Sukuna trails a few affectionate kisses along your jawline and down behind your ear before swiveling your hips to have you face away from him.

Droplets of water cascade down the slope of your back, and a wanton cry escapes your throat when Sukuna stripes them up to your shoulder blades with the point of his tongue.

You buck your hips back at the touch, whining when you feel his length behind you.

This seems to encourage him to explore your back with consideration, eventually lifting your hips and hissing out a strained sound of gratification when the tip of his cock prods at your entrance.

Strings of water and precum adorn the crown of his swollen cockhead, and you slightly wriggle your hips to get more of it inside.

“Put it in.” You demand softly, biting your lip as you attempt to peek over your shoulder and down your back.

Sukuna automatically brings your hips lower, and your eyelashes flutter as he gradually guides you onto his girth.

“Mhm- Yeah, put it in. More.” Your tongue unfurls, and Sukuna swears from the excitement in your voice.

“Oh fuck yes.” He lets out a gasp so full of primal wonder that it comes out as more of a growl, his eyelids flitting over his rolled up eyes.

The whites of his gaze belatedly return to those scarlet irises you adore, his mouth remaining slacked with a strained moan when he draws his hips back.

“Feels good?” You manage to pant, digging your nails into the back of his wrists.

“I love it. Thank you, the sweetest girl for me.”

The sting of his cock stretching open your walls is so addictive that the languid slides into your slick heat are audible.

“Thank you-mm. Fuck, thank you.”

Sukuna crouches to lick at the shell of your ear with a lengthy curl of his tongue, “Best pussy I’ve ever fucking felt.”

You spend some time drinking in each other’s moans, how your bodies fit together and the symphony of movement driving your shared pleasure.

Little time is spared by you for further speaking, and Sukuna quickly learns how to read your every flinch and wail.

He finds the perfect pace to bounce you up and down his cock, the aching preference you have for his tongue twisting around yours as you ride out your orgasms along the thick spine of his girth.

“Is this good?” He asks, full well knowing the answer, “Is this spot good?”

“You’re doing it wrong.” You huff, sarcasm punctuating the lie.

An immediate pause.

“Am I?” Sukuna grinds lazily against your sticky walls, “This isn’t the right way?”

Your mouth falls open, and you spread your legs wider as your insides wind snugly around his cock. 

He plunges inside more slowly, nudging at your cheek with his nose, “Tell me how wrong it is.”

Utterly stuffed, no other argument escapes you.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The curse smirks, but even the upturned corner of his mouth in your peripheral wobbles.

It’s incredibly adorable, but you have little time to dwell on it when Sukuna begins to slam into you faster.

You can sense him everywhere now, gripping your arms, his lips sucking soft spots onto your neck, and his hips grinding into yours until your mind is foggy and your screams turn coarse.

“God, your pussy just melts on my cock. Such a bratty cunt, but fuck - Think I like spoling you. Giving you what you need even when you can't ask for it.”

He draws out the curse, gunning into your cunt recklessly. You can feel the plush of your ass rippling against the constant pistoning of his hips.

“You feel that too? You feeling my dick? Good. Good.”

Every compliment hangs off of his tongue like he doesn’t want it to leave before he can get another quick and purposeful thrust in. Threads of thick saliva and precum knit your mutual bliss together, and you can feel his unruly cockhead rubbing creamy circles into the ceiling of your pussy.

“So wet.” Sukuna’s tongue clicks beside your ear while he continues fucking you up and down his lap in buzzing pulses.

He has an uncanny sense of when you’re close to the edge, as he’ll reel his hips back and only resume motion after your tightness minimally subsides. 

The lack of release has you feeling entirely helpless, even though every time Sukuna is back to ramming your insides to near completion, you become so stupidly out of touch you forget the consequences and take it.

Every. Fucking. Time.

Not talking was a choice before, but now it’s an impossibility, only your cries punctuating the air with shamelessness.

Your pussy is runny and sloppy from the overflow of desperation. The loud squish of it is echoed by the excited hums of approval Sukuna allows to coat the back of your neck.

“Hey, I love you. You know that right?”

Sukuna bends your throat up higher, kissing and tonguing at the spots of it that he can access between his fingers. 

“I love you. You’re mine.”

“You love me?” The question comes out garbled and pathetic, but it makes Sukuna kiss behind your earlobe with a tenderness you never thought could exist.

“I do. I love you. Just look at you.” He strains, one of his hands pressing down on your stomach.

“Oh God,” You observe the brutal penetration beneath you with awe, “What do I do?”

You don’t know why you’re asking, you just feel as though you have to ask him.

“What - do I -” The question is barely comprehensible with cries and ecstatic moans, but Sukuna answers you anyway.

“Take it. Take it all.”

The simple suggestion has your muscles clenching before you fully relax.

“That’s it. T-That’s it. Just like you’ve been doing-shit. Right there, yeah? I got it.” Sukuna pants, and when you crane your cheek back you catch a glimpse of the wild carnage in his glossy, dilated pupils.

It feeds your ego much more than it should.

“You’ve done it. You’re killing me.” He shudders, shoving you onto his cock with so much need that you can hardly tell one thrust from the next.

You gasp out as you clutch at the back of Sukuna’s neck, staring at him with widely blown out pupils and shaky breaths.

“Then, die for me.”

His lips are on yours before you can even finish the sentiment, as if he was eager to accept the total mercy of death as long as it was under your hand.

Sukuna’s hips continue gunning upwards into your flooded cunt, his tongue slotting into your mouth with whiny urgency and his arms tightening around your convulsing figure.

You feel like you’re bursting at the seams, cloudy and dumb with nothing but the heat of Sukuna’s body in your head.

You can feel yourself all over the fat, greedy rushes of his cock.

A warm and gushy mess saturated with praise and pleasure.

“Sukuna!”

The name leaves your mouth with an eruption of paradise springing from your sex, and Sukuna holds you as your body seizes with quivers.

He keeps you upright, doing those slow pumps that drove you crazy back when you were desperate to cum.

Now, they are soothing and filling. Sensual.

Sukuna lets you ride out your high until you’re loose and hoarse in his hold.

Feeling totally spent, you let him rearrange you against his frame and he gives the crown of your head a soft kiss once your cheek is leaning against his collarbone.

“Can I see?” He taps your lower back, voice rough and entreating.

You raise your head, and then provide him with a sleepy nod.

Sukuna pecks your forehead with a grin, and then effortlessly picks you up to rest your thighs over his shoulders.

“Oh wow.” He says, as if witnessing something so wondrous and rare that he can’t tear his gaze away from the sight.

The low exclamation makes you involuntarily squeeze and drip, creamy traces of Sukuna’s fluids oozing out with your own.

You can almost see the want spark in his eyes, deep maroon and curious.

He interlocks two of his hands behind your spine, using another hand to spread your lips apart and swallowing hard when your pussy seeps out more of your shared arousal. 

The last of his hands reaches out to rub at your clit with the pad of a finger, and Sukuna licks his lips when you wind your hips down to meet his finger faster.

He looks up at you, a wordless ask, and you answer by tugging his head toward your core.

Sukuna reacts with a muffled grunt, lolling out his tongue and loudly lapping up your juices the second his tongue gets a taste of you.

You squirm in his hold, “Oh god, Sukuna!”

He pinches your slippery nub between his fingers, poking his tongue into the bottom of your leaking slit and then scooping his tongue upwards through the seams.

His taste buds sweep against the grip of your walls, and harsh breaths line your throat as he selfishly explores every inch of your pussy that he already laid to waste with his cock.

“Finish one more time for me.” He rapidly murmurs, his nails digging into your thighs.

“I d-don’t think I can!” You squeak, afraid that the knot in your stomach will snap much more intensely than the first time.

Sukuna seems to take that as a challenge.

He’s undeniable, scorching your flesh with determination and ardent gulps. The tip and flat of his tongue aggressively writhe inside and squelch along your wetness. It’s nearly unbelievable how turned on you are from seeing one of the most powerful curses in the world buried in your cunt.

Your center only becomes more and more taut, which forces Sukuna to act even more starved. The point of Sukuna’s nose bumps against your engorged nub, and he spends such a dedicated amount of time outlining your most sensitive spots with his tongue that your eyes roll into black.

He latches his mouth around your sore bud, flicking and swirling his tongue around it until you mewl his name over and over again.

Liquid bliss coats his tongue, and you can vaguely feel the tired smirk when he makes you cum in his mouth one last time.

Exhaustion sets in hard for you as well, and Sukuna catches you in his arms to return you to his lap.

Once you’re settled again, Sukuna grants you another passionate kiss on the lips. Tasting yourself on his tongue has you wanting more of him, but the heavy drag of your eyelids dissuades you from asking for more.

Although you know now that he would do anything for you.

“I was always looking for you.” You breathe, the authenticity of your admission lighting up Sukuna’s visage.

He is so beautiful like that, eyes glistening with obvious affection and a weary beam. The blossom shade of his hair is damp and raked back, and the olive of his skin is covered with streams of water from the hot spring. A light sheen of sweat also adorns the nape of his neck and biceps, and you can start to see the extensive sanguine marks you raked over his toned body. One traverses from the dark, buzzed undercut behind his ear to the top of the black design on his shoulder.

You weakly raise a hand to relieve the broken skin there, but Sukuna catches your hand in his.

He moves stray strands of hair from around your eyes, pressing his lips wherever he can under your eyes and across your cheeks.

“Thank you for always letting me find you.”

Sleep comes to you remarkably easy after that.

_________________

Morning sun skims the dips of your face once you wake up.

You squint your eyes, wondering why you no longer smell the earthiness of the forest.

“Good morning.”

The drowsy greeting catches your attention instantly, and you sit up to find yourself in your own bed.

“How-?”

You turn and nearly collide your nose with his chest.

“Easy.” He encircles your shoulders, comfortingly enveloping you in a warm embrace, “First, say good morning back.”

You relax, tentatively reaching up to return the hug, “Good morning.”

Somehow, you can sense the charmed smile spreading across his face, even as he rests his chin atop your head.

He deeply inhales, his large hands moving along your back as you breathe alongside him.

“Better?” Sukuna prompts after a brief passage of time.

“So much better.”

His smile widens, “Good.”

“How did we get here?” You yawn, peering over his shoulder at the scattered sunlight in your bedroom.

“I carried you.” 

You reel back to gape at him with a dubious raise of your brow, “You know where I live?” 

“I followed you home once.” He states matter-of-factly.

Clear offense sprawls across your facial features, “No, you didn’t. I would have sensed you.” 

“Not when you were all pouty and angry with me. It was cute seeing you stomp into your house.”

“Uh huh.” You somewhat acquiesce.

Sukuna’s solid frame shakes with a hearty laugh before he addresses you with a more remorseful tone, “I just had to make sure you got home safely. You’re perfectly capable alone, but you didn’t seem to be in your right mind...I’m sorry, I swear I left as soon as you went in.”

He runs his fingers through your hair as you listen, but all you can think about is how difficult it is to have any lasting anger towards him.

Forgiveness punctuates your subsequent sigh, a drawn out and desolate sound, “I don’t know what to do now. With all the hatred I had for you.”

“For me it’s the same passion, only the direction has changed.” Sukuna softens your shoulder with a delicate kiss.

You reach up to cradle his jaw in the heel of your palm, lightly scratching his hair with your other hand, “What are we going to do?” 

“What would you like for us to do?”

“I want to kill you.” You admit honestly, but with no malice.

Sukuna shrugs with a smitten beam, “You’re the only one who could.”

You smack his bicep, “Sukuna I’m serious! What are we going to do?”

The curse shrugs again, cracking his neck to one side, “We can stage our deaths and run away I suppose. Build a home in the mountains and live there until we’re old and gray. Or, we can live from place to place, see everything there is to see. You’re smarter than me, so whatever you decide. I just don’t want to fight anymore, now that I have you to take care of.”

He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, watching the light shift in your eyes as you take in the candid suggestions.

“What do you think of that, sweetheart?”

Appreciation floods your chest, “I like those ideas, actually.”

The corners of his eyes crescent with amusement, and then he lets out a thoughtful hum as he draws random shapes into your cheek.

“There will be time for all of that later though. For now, what do you want to do?”

You pause to think over his question, and then resolve to snuggle back into his embrace.

“I want to stay right here. Just like this.”

Sukuna lightly strokes the back of your scalp and then kisses your temple with a content sigh, his lips moving reverently over the skin there.

“How did I get so lucky?”

_________________

End Notes:

hahahaha. i liked this. it just kept getting longer and longer so i just gave in😩😩 it's p much a multichapter fic lowkey LOL but thanks again for requesting! really enjoyed writing this one :)💖💞

ps. i'd like to talk about this one a bit more so if anyone wants to comment or send an ask about it i will reply in-depth!!💝 tyyy<3

[leo-fie]

I'm currently beginning my surely lifelong obsession with Terry Pratchett novels, two novels in, halfway through a third. All bangers.

So here's an observation that's probably not new to anyone:

Pratchett is a damn good writer very in conversation with tropes of the genres and his audience. He's ironic without being irony-poisoned.

Example: Monsterous Regiment. Amazing book, enjoyed every second of it. No fat on this one. The story and especially the characters move so fast that I often had to go back an read a page again to follow the train of thought. Pratchett doesn't spend a lot of time explaining how Character A came to Conclusion B, but he leaves enough bits of information that he can lead the reader to the conclusion exactly the moment he wants to. He has to have an extremely good grasp of how people read novels to pull this off. It worked on me and I'm not that attuned to his style yet.

I noticed that Pratchett uses a lot of ironic humour, but it feels different than the irony-poisoning that so plagued the 2000s and 2010s. Nowadays mainstream media has come back around to sincerity a bit, which is great, but Pratchett does both. How? For him, the irony is the starting point.

Monsterous Regiment has a girl disguising herself as a boy to join the military. She does this literally the moment we meet her. No preamble. The usual shenanigans one expects from this type of story are handled soon and serve additional purposes, like introducing the motive of the socks and the mystery of who gave them to Polly. Or the recurring bit about shaving that also does characterisation for Jackrum and Blouse. Etc. The actual plot is about the war. And where a lesser story might have have the climax be the reveal of the protagonist's actual sex, Pratchett does a bunch of interesting things in his climax, including the reveal, but he also ties it in with a dozen other plot threads into an amazing, complicated, messy scene of people talking.

And then again, because he knows where the audience is at, the last two reveals (Paul’s whereabouts and Maladikta) are handled rather quickly, but still appropriately. And for good measure, here’s a bit about Jackrum, in case you were thinking of reading the ending even a little bit less closely.

But Pratchett has been doing this since the beginning. Guards! Guards! Starts with a meeting of a secret society, and quite a lot of fun is made of the silly code phrases and dramatics, which are half the point of a secret society, and about the type of guy who would join. But it’s the beginning of the book, literally the set up. The irony is the starting point.

But it’s not like the ironic bits and the actual story are separated. Rather they work in tandem. In Monsterous Regiment there is so much gender going on, and it is very funny, and it explains the inherently performative nature of gender rather succinctly, but it’s also the cause of the war the brutality of which is present the whole time. It’s socks all the way down.

Also: Pratchett manages to say so much with so little words. The brutality of war stated with nothing but a bunch of guys on the road and a count of their limbs. Holy shit!

Yeah, I get why Pratchett is held in such high esteem. And I’m only reading translations.

[clementinegreye]

the end of love.

pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!reader

words: 1.1k

content warns/summary: infidelity, heartbreak, angst etc. aemond cheating on his wife is not cool - but it can be poetic when he’s filled with regret.

a/n: i actually never actually use any character names so this can be read with anyone in mind, i was just thinking of aemond - as i often do. (if you go on this journey with me and consider that contextually this perhaps could follow a certain scene in season two, ahem) also this is not proof-read and written really quickly but ahh enjoy!

Every tedious beat in her chest shimmered with the glittering shards of heartbreak. It was invisible to the naked eye - but so glaringly obvious that its fragments littered the atmosphere around them.

He stood before her, breaking beneath the weight of her unwavering clemency. The injury of being so entangled with another so closely bonded that the pain he had caused her ended up maiming him too. Bruises blooming across the expanse of his affection.

There was no explaining, excusing or understanding what led him to unfurl the only threads of value in his life. Silver strands stuck in the crevices of his skin where he’d tangled his grip in another.

In pooling sapphire before him she was uncovered, glinting in the vulnerability with her ribs cracked open so he may see the damage he'd done. Every incarnadine bone was soaked with the agony born from the duplicity of his transgression as it leaked from each torn ventricle.

Forgiveness spent on the wind that whistled through the room and flickered the dance between the candles. There was none left to be offered to him, and he had no coin to acquire any having spent it all on fornication. The rain trickled down in secret patterns hinting at the undoubted end of all that was - his own personal doomsday.

Her eyes glistened with the threat of tears, not yet shed but on a dangerous precipice of slipping. That would be unfair - it would be a display of truth and openness that he did not merit. For allowing him to know how he had wounded her would be an outward acceptance that he had ever owned any form of her and that she had offered any attachment to him with open trust.

There was a certain flash of betrayal alight in the air, something archaic and distinguishable - known by women for centuries before her and would be known centuries after.

The way she burnt under his touch sent an ache through her very soul. Someone who had known her so openly and who had fed her poison from his gentle palm that was pressed so delicately to her cheek. The action itself screamed words that would never pass his lips - the violence in being vulnerable something he would never subject her to, no matter how much she craved the punch.

She could stand at the door of his heart and knock with all her might, scrape the wood with her fingertips and embed her DNA into the carvings but it would make no difference, he was bolted and locked with the silver key firmly out of her grasp.

He tasted like metal, leather and smoke. Harsh, abrasive and intoxicating. She couldn't give in, knowing that someone else had tasted what should have been hers and hers alone - in oath and vow.

Clad in black leather as smooth as the surface of the sky, protective and impenetrable it was a perfect representation of him. The moon shone above them, lighting the illicit emotion that curved in the hips he had moved his hands to. It was begging, desperate and false.

There was nothing that could be the unbinding to them.

Except his own actions.

Could there have been a time when she knew the depths of his soul, or was there always the abyss of betrayal waiting to devour her whole? Waiting to sink its darkness around her light and draw her into an inescapable absence. She had been lost in a labyrinth of him, yet he had been lurking in the shadows the entire time waiting to contain her.

Fear was such a powerful sensation - she stood in front of him tracing the edges of his silhouette with tainted eyes - fearing that everything she had given had been for a fabrication.

Sabotaged in the single breath of midnight that passed the moon's lips. There was enough love there for both of them, unevenly split and so easily covered by the presence of another outwith them.

What had possessed him to fall so ungraciously into the embrace of someone else? Did the devil in spirit convince him to ruin and vandalise the pure form of tenderness that flowed from her veins and through her?

His head fell low, burning with the molten heat of regret and the knowing that he was his own undoing. That the blush of her body would now never belong to him, that he had discoloured with disdain any flush of crimson that may have once been mistaken for devotion.

Spring would fall into summer who would dance with autumn who would be killed by winter and everything would still be the same. Change of seasons could not change the knowing that there was nothing monumental enough, not even love that could have saved him from his own demise.

He had seen to that.

Ensuring there could be no weakness from intimacy that was handed to him in front of god herself. He had to destroy the holy and pure form of adoration with a disposition so closely linked to desolation.

One moment in time was all it took.

In the cold hands of another, he had tasted the bitterness of depravity that flavoured adultery. Eschewing the comfort and honeyed sweetness that lay in the milky sheets of his own home. Where sleep could evade him and he could dream of her so safely next to him for something numbing and dark in their caress.

He had held her in the half-light of dawn when the shadows danced on her body. It had looked as menacing as he felt his soul to be and he knew the sweetness of the innocence of her admiration would decay in his macabre hands.

He slipped out beneath the moonlight, the call of motion into the sea of darkness as he pursued his weapon of destruction against the one he called his own.

The ghost of his beloved’s lips haunted his as they flushed with infidelity. The memory of her touch cascading over him in shivers while the harsh hands of that which he sought out bruised the path which they touched. He could savour the taste of her name on his tongue and know he had no right to speak it, not after the sin he had committed.

Had he little thought for consequence? Or was it exactly the outcome he had endeavoured?

That answer lay within the tainted heart of his lover, who stood before him as she uncovered the layers of his deceit and let the waves wash over them - drowning the memory of love from where it had once taken life and started to breathe.

Little disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters.

[https-yutaliker]

"she tryna make love, i'm tryna make movies" c.m.m. x fem!reader

-16 dni i am begging on my knees PLEEK word count: 1.6k ermm warnings!! breeding kink, choking (just a lil), mentions of recording (none actually done though), fingering, cum play (i think), size kink, petnames (sweet girl, baby, etc.)

your back hits the back of the door with a large thud, the hand of your boyfriend following swiftly after, making its way around your neck snugly as he crowds into your space. “fuck baby, so small–  can almost fit my whole hand around..” chad groans, his hand slightly squeezing from its resting position.

your hands desperately grab onto his bare back, leaving scratch marks in their wake. you whimper at his words, mouthing along at his neck as he maneuvers his thigh between your legs, heavy panting being shared between the two of you. his hands leave your throat to grip onto your hips, pressing deeply as he drags you along the firm surface. “chad,” you gasp, a pit of heat burning in your stomach.

“there you go baby, just like that,” he groans in your ear, one of his hands squeezing harder at your hip as he pushes his thigh harder, breathing heavily into your ear. the pressure is becoming too much, your breathing becoming labored as your impending release licks at the back of your neck. your legs clench around their home on his thigh, head falling back as you release a groan of pleasure, legs tightening around his thigh as you cum, chest falling rapidly as chad lifts your head back up from the back of your neck.

your lips are still connected, making out sloppily as your bodies thump throughout the hallway, attempting to navigate the familiar path to your dorm bedroom as chad desperately grasps at your clothing, removing articles with whiny grunts as you reach your bedroom.

he shuts the door with his foot, joining you on the bed as he looks up at you for consent. you nod, allowing him to remove your bottom clothing.

chad’s fingers rub over your slit, your thighs jolting together at the action. he chuckles at this, bringing down one of your thighs while rubbing circles into your thigh. “relax, sweet thing.” he mumbles, making his way down to kiss on your inner thigh, his long fingers gathering your slick as he admires your glistening cunt.

“f-fuck, chad!” you mewl loudly, clenching around his fingers as they make their way inside. “need more, please- oh god.” you moan, legs quivering as your lover works his fingers, searching for that one spot he knew would make you crumble into him. “yeah, my baby needs more? you want another finger mama? you nod enthusiastically, “please chad, feels s’good– fuck!” your pleading is cut off as he works in another finger along with the other two, curling them slightly. “fuck, tiny thing can barely handle these, how’re you gonna fit my cock in, baby?” he says teasingly, watching you squirm in his hold at these words. he pulls his fingers out, not giving enough time to mourn the loss as he pushes them back in with vigour, a loud moan escaping your lips as he finds that gummy spot in your cunt.

“f-fuuuck mama, feels good doesn’t it? gonna cum for me and be a good girl, aren’t you?” he grunts into your ears, slightly biting down on the shell of your outer ear. you let out a whimper at his words, your nails dig into his biceps, crescent marks left behind.

"m’gonna cum, please let me cum..” you plead, chest heaving as his movements increase in speed at the sounds of your pleasure ringing through his ears. he moans at the feeling of you clenching around him, trailing kisses along your neck.

“my perfect little whore, such a good girl. you wanna cum for me? make a mess on my fingers?” chad emphasizes his words with another harsh thrust of his fingers, curling them into your walls once more. your stomach curls, back arching as you grab onto a handful of his hair.

“f-fuck! baby i'm gonna– oh!” you exclaim as the taut thread inside of you snaps, your release washing over you suddenly, gushing around chad’s fingers. 

“just look at you,” chad hums, watching you come undone before him, body still shivering through your release. “should’ve recorded, yeah? my pretty girl.” he sighs into your neck, slowly removing his fingers from your cunt, admiring the sight of your slick on your fingers before he licks up your release, maintaining eye contact. you shudder at the sight, before your breath hitches at his hand coming into your line of sight.

“suck.” is all he says, fingers prodding at your slightly agape mouth. without looking away, you grab onto his hand, enveloping the appendages in your slick mouth. “o-oh ffuucckk mama, just like that,” he moans, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your tongue caressing his fingers. he drags them out slowly, watching the spit trail fall onto your lower lip, and with a gentle finger, wipes it away. 

you stare at him for a moment, before grabbing his face and connecting your lips as he immediately reciprocates. his tongue is pushing past yours, your hands finding their home in his curls as you tug harshly on them. he lets out a whimper, your mouth swallowing the sounds of his pleasure.  the two of you pull apart panting as you try to catch your breath. 

chad pushes himself up onto his knees, shucking his boxers as your push onto your elbows, watching his actions. he throws them somewhere in a corner of the room, descending upon you as he grabs his cock. he rubs it against your core, a sigh of pleasure leaving both of your lips as he slowly pushes in. the stretch is dull, but pleasant, the feeling of being full brings swears and moans of chad’s name as he slowly pulls out. “i got you baby, just relax.” he whispers into your ear, head moving to nose at the crook of your neck.

your mind is hazy, the lingering pain in your thighs long forgotten as your boyfriend hikes them further up his shoulders, his cock pushing even further into your heat. “nnngh- fuck, you’re so tight sweet thing. should’ve done this ages ago if i knew it was gonna be like this.” he grunts, fingers pushing into your hips as he holds them down, hips rutting into yours. the impact of your hips against his pushing you up the bed with every thrust.

“ye-yes! just like that– mmmh!” your pleading is cut off by one particular thrust aimed at your g-spot, legs trembling at the motion. you clench down on chad, tears of pleasure making their journey down the expanse of your face as he groans at the warmth and tightness. his face falls into your shoulder, small whimpers of pleasure being muffled by the skin of your neck as your legs tighten around his waist.

“jesus– shit sweetheart,” he whines, teeth slightly digging into your neck as he winds his arms around you, pressing your body closer to his. each thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, breathy whimpers escaping as your release tickles at the back of your neck, the coil inside of you about to snap. “c-chad i can’t– please let me cum, please!” you beg, nails digging into the muscle of his back as you whine. even if he didn’t give you permission, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold back.

“let go, pretty girl. cum for me.” right as the words leave his mouth you burst, screaming in pleasure as chad continues rutting into you, leaving you a moaning mess. 

your mind goes blank, no thoughts or sensations besides the ecstasy of your release. the overstimulation catches up soon after, the pleasure almost too much as you call out to your boyfriend. “chad i-i can’t,” you squirm, trying to wriggle from his arms. “fuck baby i’m almost there.” he grips your jaw, forcing you to look up at him “so fucking good,” he moans out as he speeds up his pace, hips stuttering as his own orgasm catches up to him. pleasure washes over chad as he lets out a guttural moan, hips pressing into yours as his load spills deep inside of you.

you gasp, nails digging into his skin. “there you go sweetheart,” chad says, stroking your cheek as he slowly pulls out. as he watches his cum spill out, an idea makes itself known and before he can stop himself, he pushes his cum back in with two fingers. you moan in surprise, his fingers being removed as he licks them clean of your fluids before leaving a chaste kiss on your forehead. “did so well for me, you always do.” he whispers, pressing your foreheads together.

your eyes flutter shut, lungs trying to fill with air as you wriggle against the bedsheets. you faintly hear the sound of water rushing somewhere, mind not fully there as you hear the creaking of the weary dorm floorboards. the feeling of a warm washcloth over your core shocking you out of the pleasant haze. “there you are sweetheart, feelin’ okay?” he asks, trying his best to gently clean you up. you let out a grunt, head lolling to the side. he chuckles, leaving a peck on your lips as he finishes cleaning you up. discarding the washcloth in the dirty clothes pile, he retrieves a new pair of underwear for you both from the drawer. he pats your thigh gently, “move your hips up for me real quick,” he mumbles. you oblige quickly, the feeling of fresh cotton on your skin soothing you.

after quickly shuffling his own pair on and making sure you’re situated, he lifts the corner of the comforter, allowing you to climb under first before joining you. his arm makes its home around your waist, pulling you closer as you let out a heavy sigh, the weight of your actions inevitably  weighing down on you as sleep overtakes your eyelids. the last thing you feel before finally succumbing to exhaustion is his hand gently stroking your side, the up and down of his breathing lulling you to sleep.

AHHH OMGGG I FINISHED ITTTT

[verbenaa]

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

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

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

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

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

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.9k

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

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

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

Masquerade.

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

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

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

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

Gods, he looked so handsome. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hi friends! I know it's been a while (over a month, woof), since I published a fic. Summer is a busy time for me - birthdays, social occasions, festivals, etc. And now I am heading off on holiday for a week. I have been working hard on chapter one of Fire on the Mountain whenever I have a free moment, and wanted to have it finished before I went away today, however, between working and trying to get myself packed and ready to leave for the airport, I've not had time and I didn't want to publish something hurried and low quality. It is very close to being finished, and will be my first priority when I return from my holiday (I will still be around, can't resist a snoop at Tumblr while poolside, I just won't be able to write)

Anyway, to tide you over, I leave you with the following snippet!

Header by my beloved recipient of sour cream and onion dust fingers, @vampire-exgirlfriend

Lia props herself up on her elbow, lying on her side as she watches Alicent carefully stitch delicate powder blue flowers into the fabric suspended within her embroidery hoop. Her own lies discarded beside her, she had given up when the thread had become knotted, in no mood to attempt to fix it.

“Alicent…” she begins slowly, “do you ever think about why your father wanted to bring you to King’s Landing?”

Alicent keeps her eyes upon her needlepoint, her tone matter of fact as she continues her work. “To instruct me in what is expected of a highborn lady.”

Lia huffs, leaning across and tugging Alicent’s sleeve to get her full attention. “Yes, but why?”

Alicent sighs, lowering her embroidery hoop into her lap, fixing Lia with an exasperated stare. “To give me the best possible opportunities in life, so that an appropriate match may be made for me.”

“And that is enough for you, is it? To simply be married off to a man who is not of your choosing?”

She lowers her gaze, her voice soft. “My mother did not choose my father, and yet they were very happy.”

“But is that what you want?”

“What is it that you are trying to get at?”

Lia hums, flopping down onto her back against the plush rug that they sit upon in the solar, clasping her hands across her front as she stares up at the vaulted ceiling. “I am unsure of my own purpose, what it is that I want.”

Alicent nods in understanding. “Well, there will be plenty of eligible knights at the upcoming tourney. Gwayne is going to be there, he is competing in the jousting.”

She scoffs, recalling the gangly boy of ten, a mop of hair the colour of rust, that they had left behind in Oldtown all those years ago. “Ah, yes, how fares your older brother?” She asks, turning her head to the side to look at her friend.

“He is a knight now,” Alicent says proudly, “and quite handsome too.”

“Handsome?! How would you know?”

“He tells me so in his letters.”

The pair burst into peals of laughter, stopping abruptly as Otto sweeps into the room, casting a disapproving glance at both of them. “Do the pair of you not have lessons to attend this afternoon?”

“We were waiting for Rhaenyra, so that we might all go together,” Alicent says apologetically, scrambling to her feet and smoothing the skirts of her dress down.

Lia rolls her eyes, knowing their fun is over and rises to her feet too, running her fingers through her dark curls, rumpled from having laid upon the floor.

“Well, the Small Council has concluded its business for the day, and with it Rhaenyra’s duties as cupbearer, so run along. Do not keep your septa waiting.”

“Yes, Father,” Alicent says quietly, making her way out of the solar.

Lia is about to follow suit, when Otto reaches out, softly grasping her forearm and halting her movements. “I trust you are behaving yourselves?”

“Always,” she says with a saccharine smile, moving to pull away from him.

He tightens his grasp. “The Princess is…spirited. Do not allow her to lead you or Alicent astray.”

She slips away from him, pausing once in the corridor to look back over her shoulder at him. “You have raised a well mannered young woman, Ser Otto. She will heed your wishes, I cannot say the same for myself.”

Full fic coming the beginning of September, otherwise you are free to beat me with your shoes.

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Amidst the dawn of creation, when deities strode the earth as equals among mortals, humanity thrived in serene unity, untouched by the grasping tendrils of greed that would later mar the landscape. Stirred by the inherent goodness of their subjects, the divine council elected to endow them with a peerless boon: a guardian, a celestial warrior sculpted by the ethereal hands of the gods, ordained to safeguard the vulnerable and uphold equity amongst all.

Yet, the idyllic tranquility swiftly dissolved into a harrowing nightmare. With no need for celestial intervention, humanity succumbed to the seductive allure of avarice and pride, exploiting the guardian-warrior as an inexhaustible wellspring for their desires. Gold, jewels, fineries—all were but a whispered command away, conjured effortlessly by his boundless power.

Thus dawned the era of enslavement, a grim testament to humanity's descent into moral decay, as the defenseless fell beneath the yoke of callous overlords devoid of empathy. As calamity flourished and the divine pantheon grieved the degradation of their once-beloved charges, a decree resounded through the hallowed halls of eternity: the token of gratitude and trust bestowed upon mortals would be reclaimed and returned to its celestial sanctum.

Yet, the gods failed to anticipate a pivotal revelation: the guardian-warrior, born of their divine essence and combined prowess, surpassed even his creators in strength. Fearing his uprising following their futile attempts at annihilation, they decreed the most severe of punishments: eternal imprisonment.

Unaware of the extent of his own power, the warrior endured a punishing ordeal, encased within a sarcophagus of obsidian and unyielding stone, assailed by the venomous embrace of serpents and scorpions, his form suffused with chilled mercury—a spectral warden, condemned to an eternity of solitary confinement.

A formidable curse, imbued with the arcane power of millennia past, was woven into the fabric of his sarcophagus, its hieroglyphs serving as a dire warning to any who dared disturb the seal imprisoning the warrior, lest they unleash unfathomable chaos upon the world once more. However, amidst the shadows of time, an ancient prophecy, shrouded in the enigma of celestial movements and cosmic whispers, stood poised to redefine the very tapestry of humanity's fate.

In the heart of an unprecedented archaeological endeavor, an intrepid explorer embarks upon a quest of unparalleled magnitude, driven by the tantalizing allure of uncovering secrets buried deep within the sands of antiquity. Yet, intertwined with her journey lies a prophecy etched into the annals of time itself—a prophecy veiled in mystery, its origins lost in the mists of history, foretelling a cataclysmic confrontation between forces ancient and divine.

As the threads of destiny unfurl, two diametrically opposed forces emerge from the annals of legend: one heralding the dawn of salvation, the other portending an abyssal descent into darkness. Amidst this cosmic conflict, the archaeologist finds herself cast as a pivotal figure, entwined in the struggle between light and shadow, tasked with deciphering the enigmatic prophecies that hold the key to humanity's ultimate fate.

In this crucible of uncertainty, where the past converges with the present and the future hangs in the balance, the question lingers like a specter haunting the recesses of the mind: Can the immutable laws of destiny be defied, or does the intrepid explorer possess the audacity to chart a new course for humanity, rewriting the very fabric of existence itself?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, violence, torture, Eddie has a demi-god name, etc. More will be added later.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: It's been a while since I had this idea and after my hiatus I finally had time to write, I hope you like this baby of mine just as I already have a huge affection for this story. Thank you for your support, I'll be back soon!! TAGLIST IS OPEN.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

If you like my works, support me with a small 𝐊𝐨-𝐅𝐢!!

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲: Sutenankh, once revered for valor, finds himself ensnared in the ethereal confines of divine justice. As he awaits his fate within the celestial sanctum of Horus, his heart heavy with remorse, the gods decree eternal imprisonment. Meanwhile, a clandestine pact between Anubis and Horus births a prophecy of hope for a future liberator. Betrayal, anguish, and the weight of celestial retribution collide in a tale where virtue and destiny intertwine.

𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧: Ramses Thothmes, a wealthy Egyptian magnate, extends an invitation for a new excavation, promising untold secrets hidden beneath the desert's surface. As you convene with Thothmes to discuss the venture, a new figure emerges from the shadows – the enigmatic Colonel Duncan Smith.

Under Smith's watchful eye, the expedition sets forth into uncharted territory, where ancient ruins conceal dark secrets and lethal perils.

[sunmoonjune]

the kingdom of dawn

synopsis: this is a description of the petrichor universe in which my demon!ateez au [dewdrops at dawn] takes place. this will function as a masterlist to fics from this universe as well as information about demons, angels, the world, etc. this is mostly a lore piece, so there is not a lot of the reader in this 

warnings: though some of ateez’s demon forms are inspired by obey me! their personalities are not, so in terms of the sins they rule over, they will not be the same as the obey me!demons. this piece details about the fictional world of the petrichor universe and about some of its species so there are mentions of supernatural creatures, as well as blood and death as well as war and killing (kept vague). they are demons, please be warned they will occasionally act like it. 

The red strings of fate are knotted tight around your soul as your decision is made. When your hand meets the one reaching out, waiting patiently for your grasp, every nerve-ending in your skin seems to catch fire. Their skin is pleasantly warm beneath yours, but the heat in your body emerges from your heart rather than your hand. The ‘soulbond,’ as the sun-moon being called it, pulls tightly in your chest. It swells with waves of warmth and emotion, before it settles snugly around your heart. 

The muscle thumps rapidly beneath your ribs, feeling as though a knot had been cinched firmly around its flesh. Your fingers flex around those gripping yours, and the thread in your chest seems to flutter as if someone had strummed the strings of a guitar. It’s a strange, but not unwelcome sensation – especially since the warmth that it provides makes you feel a little giddy. After a beat, the hand in yours offers a squeeze in response and that same string seems to vibrate. 

They’re tugging you forward. 

With a gentle pull of your fingers, the hand guides you toward them and into the darkness that shrouds the celestial doorway. Despite your racing heart and the bite of fear eating at your stomach, you take a determined step forward. 

The bond swells. It presses into your throat and fills every inch of your form, feeling like a warm blanket settling over your aching muscles. It sinks deeper, saturating your soul and nestling sweetly beside your heart - a muscle of its own, firmly attached to both your soul and your mind. They squeeze your hand again, and somehow you understand that something similar has happened to your unknown guide. 

You wish you could see their face. 

In the darkness beyond the doorway, you see nor feel nothing besides the warm grip of fingers in yours. It’s an empty expanse of space – soulless and lifeless, barren if not for the guiding touch of your savior. 

They show you the way, firmly grasping your hand and refusing to relent in their pursuit forward. For some baffling reason, you trust them. Their guidance is the only thing binding you to this plane of existence, and their touch seems to activate that soulbond in your chest. You are not unaware of the implications of this bond - a string always has two ends. If this person is the other end of your thread - or seeks to guide you to it, you’ll follow them without question. 

Though, you faintly wonder why the knot in your heart tugs in different directions. Perhaps, it’s not a single string? The possibility of several threads tying you to another is a little mesmerizing, and you shake off the question before you become too confused.

As the hand persists, your vision is blurred by the sudden appearance of a small bright light in the distance. 

It’s faint, but you can vaguely see where shadows disappear into the alabaster shine of some form of light. There’s another sweet tug of the string in your chest, and you find yourself smiling and trying not to stumble over your feet as the form seems to pull you with a renewed surge of excitement. 

You nearly giggle at their elation, and offer a squeeze of your hand in acknowledgement. 

As you approach the light, your head seems to swell - like the beginning of a headache that leaves your vision blurry and your thoughts scrambled. It’s a little difficult to continue forward, but your guide is kind. With your vision starting to blur, the light growing closer but far more cloudy, you don’t see the shadow of seven more forms beyond the dark expanse. 

They’re waiting for you. 

Just beyond the other side of this soulless space, there are seven more people waiting patiently for you to emerge in their world. They fidget anxiously, swaying on their feet and chewing on their lips as they await the return of their leader as he left to guide you back into their realm. It’s been far too long, and they’ve grown so lonesome without your presence at their side. 

As the light closes in, your eyes slide shut as you cross the border into a new world, an anxious tension keeping them closed until you reach your destination. 

Your first glimpse of the Kingdom of Dawn is through rays of golden light arching across the sky as the sun begins its morning journey from one end of the Earth to the other, and the frosty chill of air at the first break of sunrise settles over your skin, cooling your flesh as they cling to the warmth of first light – just like dewdrops at dawn. 

*:･ﾟ About the Kingdom of Dawn ･ﾟ:*

This kingdom is home to the immortal world of demons and angels alike. However, it is likely not the same story the human world may portray. You see, demons are not the dark, sinister creatures many tales make them out to be – likewise, angels are not being of elegance and kindness.

In the Kingdom of Dawn, demons can hear your prayers just as well as angels can, however you may never know if they were the one to answer. Demons can live amongst the humans, not bound to the celestial realm as the angels are. Able to switch between a demon form and a human one, they can look just like any other stranger on the street.

In their demon forms, most demonkind have a few defining features, but each is different - just as each human is different.

Most demons have a set of wings, horns and tail - they’re commonplace amongst their kind. Wings can be of different sizes and shapes: feathered, bat-like or scaled are just a few prevalent kinds. Horns and tails are quite the same, and each demon’s will be slightly different. But be warned, many demon’s tails have hidden stingers, and neurotoxins are not uncommon venoms in the Kingdom of Dawn. Try not to get stung! 

Most demons communicate with their tails much like a cat – they flick and jump based on their emotions, but are typically far more prehensile than that of a cat. This allows them to curl their tails around objects, and depending on the type of tail, the muscles of their tails can be used to squeeze tight - a dangerous implication. 

The extra appendages of demonkind are extremely sensitive - especially wings. Most devils will not allow these appendages to be touched by anyone but their mates. Touching a demon’s wings can be seen as signs of accepting a soulbond. In addition, wings are very important to a demon. They are used in nearly every aspect of life, including mating, hunting, and determining status. Many demons care for their wings and extra appendages with excruciating care. However, tending to these extremities is a personal matter, only shared between mates and lovers. 

A demon’s eyes will also no longer have an iris or pupil: eyes belonging to a demon are solid black. The teeth of demonkind are also slightly different; their canines are elongated in demon form, giving their grins a flash of fangs.

Some demons, depending on their strength and power, will have other features. It is said that the High King of Hell has golden jewelry embossing the structure of his wings, for example. Additionally, in their demon forms, each of the rulers of this kingdom has a glimmering crown that manifests around their horns. Each circlet is different, and some crawl up their horns rather than filtering around. 

All demons are considered much stronger than humankind. Each devil is born with heightened strength and stamina, and they are considered much taller than humans. Their enhanced skills also extend to healing as well. Most demons can heal superficial wounds, like cuts and scrapes, in a matter of seconds. Other injuries can be healed just as quickly, depending on the strength and power of the demon. 

Additionally, some demons can hold great magical capabilities depending on their power. The extent of their powers depends on the demon. The eight rulers of Hell are known for their extensive magic and incredible power, but not many know of their special abilities. 

There are several other traits that separate demons from humankind, including the sounds they make. The vocal cords of a demon are formed differently from other species. These differences allow them to make more sounds than many are capable of. This distinctive set of vocal cords was created to aid their kind in Infernal speech - the language of Hell. This dialect is made up of sounds that humans cannot replicate. A mix of hisses, growls and monstrous sounds catalog Infernal speech, and they cannot be reproduced by any other species - making Infernal unique only to demonkind.

While they sound remarkably frightening, demons are not all dark and sinister beings.

Devils can be kind, just as any human could. Despite their stories, most demons don’t actually interact with humans beyond being summoned. Choosing instead to reside in the darkness of Hell, demons are not solely responsible for the chaos of the human world. Deals between a demon and a human are quite rare, and seldom affect the balance and order of the world.

A deal made with a demon is an eternal pact. Once a deal is made, it cannot be broken without immense difficulty for both parties. There is no confirmed record of a deal with a devil ever being broken. There is not much knowledge on this matter, and the manner in which deals are made cannot be confirmed - nor the price that is to pay for such a deal. However, if a deal is made, all those involved will be marked with the tattoo of a chain. It wraps around the left wrist, winding upwards towards the elbow, leaving a link open at the base of the inside of the wrist. This link will connect to the chain of the tattoo on the other parties involved. The tattoo marks a deal, and binds all those involved - unbreakable and eternal. 

However, soulbonds between a demon and a human are less rare.

When a soulbond snaps between a demon and their partner or partners, it is an eternal bond that cannot be broken - even by death. Demons will love only their chosen soulmates, and being separated from their mates by great distances or death is extremely painful. However, not all demons will meet their mates. Only the guiding touch of fate and the red string binding their heart can tell. 

Some say demons are some of the fiercest and most protective of lovers. Relationships are eternal and demons will love their mates beyond even their dying breath. However, though it may be difficult to kill a demon, it is not wise to get between a demon and their mate unless you crave a fate worse than death. Demons are protective to the end.

Most demons will mark their mates with a pact mark. 

Pact marks are sigils of a bond between mates. Like a werewolf’s bite, a pact mark will show other demons that the chosen recipient is protected. Through a pact mark, the soulbond is enhanced, allowing some conscious thought to be exchanged between mates in addition to emotion. 

The sigil of pact marks are typically the rune of the demon’s true name. The runes are transcribed in Infernal, so it cannot be read by many others than those in Hell. The pact mark will appear on the recipient’s skin in the form of a tattoo. Locations and sizes of these marks are important and can have several different meanings. 

Demons are immortal beings - from the moment they are created, they will not succumb to physical aging beyond maturity (typically around the age of twenty-five). They can still be killed, but not so easily as humans. In fact, most literature that detailed how to slay demons was destroyed many centuries ago. The knowledge has been lost to all but a few. Most believe that the only thing that can kill a demon is an angel.

In comparison to demons, angels are far more involved in the human world.

While demons keep to themselves, choosing not to be involved in the fates of humankind, angels believe it is their right and duty to create a ‘pure’ world. Unless given an order by the archangel Michael, angels remain in the Celestial Realm. However, there is very little information regarding this realm or the business of angels beyond their mission in the human world. They are bound by their creator to exterminate any being that does not hold purity in their heart. No definition has ever been provided for what angels believe to be ‘pure.’  

Angels appear differently to every human, but most who survive encounters with such creatures typically entail imagery of multiple sets of wings and clusters of eyes, both unseeing and all too invasive. If you ever encounter an angel, your best bet for survival is to pray to a demon for safety, and hope your heart is pure enough for salvation. 

It has been said that the blood of an angel runs gold rather than the scarlet ichor of other species. Though, not many can claim to have seen an angel bleed - angels are extraordinarily strong, propelled by enhanced speed and strength like demonkind. However, despite their strength, it is not difficult for demons to slaughter angels. They can be killed like any other species, and do not possess the healing abilities of a demon. 

No one knows what happens to angels after death. 

Like a demon, angels’ vocal cords are more suited for a different language. They often have trouble forming the sounds used in human tongues, and typically only speak in a horrifying succession of clicks and screeches. In the rare instance human speech is used, the sound is scratchy and raw - terrifying in an entirely different manner. 

Other creatures that may prowl through the Kingdom of Dawn include hellhounds, wraiths, reapers, little demons known as ‘little Ds,’ and many more. Some say there are dragons guarding the borders of the kingdom, but they’ve never been seen by anyone but Hell’s rulers.

In Hell, the High King presides over the entirety of the realm. The seven princes, though not actually ‘princes’ by definition as they are not related in any manner, each rule over one of the seven rings. The rings are divided into categories that are best described as the seven sins: pride, greed, envy, wrath, lust, gluttony and sloth. However, the scope of each of these rings extends beyond just the manner of sin. 

Other demons in the Kingdom of Dawn are divided into these sins. Each demon is born into a specific sin, but it does not define their personality or traits in any way. These classifications simply aid in deciding the capabilities of each demon. For example, a demon of lust is more suited to become an incubus rather than a dream-eater. However, their classification does not limit their ability to hone different capabilities. 

Additionally, no one knows which of the sins each prince was assigned at birth, aside from a few. While they rule over a certain ring, it is not clear if their presiding sin matches the ring in which they rule.

Everyone is too afraid to ask.

Though rare, some demons do savor the taste of human flesh. It is not common, as they do not encounter many humans, but some demons will hunt humans. There is little a human can do to protect themselves against a demon, unless guarded by another species. However rare they may be, it is best not to wander Hell alone. 

In Hell, the realm may be different from the flame-riddled agony of myth, but it still varies from the human world in some aspects. 

For instance, the sun only illuminates the sky for a few short hours of the day - between a few hours around high noon. Without the sun, much of Hell is lit by vibrant lights that mimic the sun. Most are powered by magic, and those in the royal palace are fed by starlight. 

Much of the Kingdom of Dawn is similar to the human world in terms of structure – the land is not drastically different (though there are still sunken, fiery pits in each ring for those who have committed atrocities). Seasons still change in Hell, though they are slightly different given the lack of constant sunlight. In addition, some human plants still grow well in Hell. They are less common, however, and you will more likely find Hell’s native plants. 

For humans living and visiting the Kingdom of Dawn, there are few drastic differences to account for. Of course, if you can avoid the hungry gazes of lower demons, best negated with a ruler of Hell at your side, you won’t have too much trouble in this kingdom. 

*:･ﾟ About the Rulers of Hell･ﾟ:*

Choi Jongho, one of the seven ‘princes’ of Hell, rules over the lowest of the seven rings. These rings are not constructed in a manner of superiority, so the level of their position does not equate to their power or rank. The rule of each section was designated based on birth order, so as the youngest of the eight rulers, Jongho was assigned the last ring: sloth. 

While he may be the youngest, Jongho is irrefutably one of the strongest of the ruling demons. Based on muscle capacity alone, Jongho can easily outrank his partners in strength. In addition, the youngest was named the General of Hell’s army soon after being named ruler of the seventh ring. 

Jongho’s demon form consists of massive, dark wings that fade from an obsidian black to a scarlet red at the ends. Some lower ranking demons have described the general’s wings as though the membranes were dripping with the sticky ichor of blood. The tips of his wing’s claws are incredibly sharp, and the inky color also reflects a scarlet shine when the sun illuminates them. 

Jongho’s long, prehensile tail is barbed at the end - sort of like the human world’s sting rays. The barb is difficult to see when relaxed, but even harder to avoid when at the general’s mercy. Be wary – his stinger is laced with a potent neurotoxin with only one cure. His tail is the same deep black color of his wings, and the barb can be hidden beneath the skin of the underside - leaving his opponents ignorant of the awaiting venom. Jongho’s tail is a little longer than some of his mates, and can sometimes be seen dragging across the floor of the palace - if it is not very carefully wrapped around one of his mate’s legs. 

The horns of the youngest of the demon rulers curve upwards away from his head. They bend outwards in a single curve before ending with the points skyward, tips sharp and scarlet - matching the faded obsidian of his wings. The dark color of the bottom of his horns blend seamlessly into his black hair, and when the sun shines directly on his figure, you can catch little glimpses of red highlights. 

Jung Wooyoung presides over the next of the seven rings, and as age order dictates, the next sin: gluttony. Wooyoung is one of the demons that most believe was not born of the sin they rule. No one quite believes Wooyoung is a gluttony demon, and there have been several rumors attempting to guess his actual sin - to which Wooyoung will never reveal. 

Wooyoung is known for his awing ability to bewitch others. Akin to a snake whisper of legend, Wooyoung can convince anyone of anything - he could lead beasts to the grave with a simple smile and coax others into revealing their weaknesses at a single word from his lips. Most aren't quite sure if it’s a power of his or some kind of natural charm. 

His wings are some of the most opulent among demonkind. With a tremendous wingspan, one that rivals even the King, Wooyoung’s two sets of wings are a sight to behold. Blessed with two sets of ebony-feathered wings, Wooyoung’s status as a ‘prince’ is made clear. Both wings are coated in dark feathers. Because of this, once a year, he undergoes a sort of shedding season - a molt. During this time, old feathers are preened away and new feathers begin to take their place. These new feathers can be uncomfortable as they grow in, so Wooyoung has been known to be a little pricklier during this time. The itch and ache are constant, and it can be difficult to reach some of the feathers on his own. However, as the seasons continue, Wooyoung has grown used to his molting season with the help of his mates. 

Wooyoung is one of the only demon rulers who does not have a tail - the High King being the only other. Not all demons are born with them, and some assume he does not have one due to the second set of massive wings at his back. 

The horns of the lord of gluttony are ebony colored, as most demon’s are. They curve upwards in a single bend, and curl backwards around his head in the shape of half moons. His circlet manifests daintily between them in a glimpse of shimmering gold, gemstones gracing the band of ornate, twisting branches. His horns blend into a head of dark hair, the top half colored a deep black while the bottom layer fades into a bright blonde. The two-toned hair is often seen pulled into a half-up style, with a few strands loose and framing his face. 

Song Mingi, the next of the demon lords, was assigned the ring just above Wooyoung: lust. Despite being older, many will joke that Wooyoung and Mingi have switched the sins they preside over. Mingi, like his mate, will never say what sin he was born into. 

Mingi can often be seen beside Jongho, as he commands the aerial fleet on Jongho’s army. The position of General had been offered to Mingi, but he had turned it down in favor of remaining a soldier. He takes control of much of the training of new soldiers, and commands the section of airborne soldiers during times of war. Mingi’s claws are well-suited for combat, as the razor sharp talons are laced with the same venom in Jongho’s tail. In addition, Mingi’s senses are acutely tuned due to his life in war, and he can sense a mutiny far before a rebellion begins to stir. His clairvoyant abilities certainly aid such senses as well. 

The wings that sprout from Mingi’s back are composed of the same sort of bat-like membrane of some of his mates. However, the brown membrane only makes up the inner portion of his wings. At the tips of his wings, by the ends of the bony fingers, the membrane disappears and scales take their place. In comparison to Yeosang, these scales are translucent and glimmer in the sunlight - like a dragonfly. When caught in rays of light, they cast rainbow glares, illuminating the room like a sun catcher. Though they appear fragile, the glassy scales are remarkably sharp, and can cut through skin easily. 

The ruler of the ring of lust has a tail that matches his wings. With a long brown base, the prehensile appendage is tipped with a diamond shape of translucent scales. Like his wings, these scales are razor sharp and have no difficulty being used in battle.  

Unlike some of the simpler horns of demonkind, Mingi’s horns are shaped like those of a ram. They twist with a spiral shape once, leaving the pointed tips facing backwards. Because of their shape, they can be difficult to maintain, but his mates aid in these processes. The ebony color of his horns stands out from the silver glint of his hair. The light brownish color is mostly silver looking in the light, and it’s long enough to rest against the back of his neck. 

Choi San, though some believe was born into lust, is the ruler of the fourth of the seven rings: wrath. His sweet, joyful demeanor may not paint the picture of anger, but San is exceptional at guarding his wrath and maintaining his temper. Although, it is never a good idea to anger the lord of this sin - fate may not be able to protect you from his rage, especially if you threaten his mates. 

San was born with a power that is not often seen among supernatural species. With an uncanny ability to control shadows, San can both understand and speak to the slippery manifestations. His shadows are sentient creatures, and San treats them softly despite their otherwise suspicious occupation. As they are naturally occurring, San uses his shadows as spies – allowing them to collect intel for him, which they will whisper back into his ears. His shadows can only be heard by some, but their presence is unmistakable. San controls them well, however, so unless he calls for them, they often remain hidden. Although, some lower demons have said they have seen wisps of shadow clinging to the other demon lords, clinging to their skin and shifting around their limbs like a second skin. Perhaps, they adore his mates as much as San does. 

With smooth, bat-like wings, San’s lithe form is built for speed - it makes him the fastest of the demon rulers. The dark membrane is sleek, the obsidian color only interrupted by the alabaster white of the boney frame of his wings. When spread wide, his wing span is impressive, spanning more than twice the length of his arms. 

The shadow-singer has a tail that resembles some of the pictures of demonic myth. With a thin, dark base and a tip pointed like an arrowhead, the tail is nearly exactly what some had predicted them to look like. However, they likely did not predict how akin to the weapon the tip would be – his tail is as pointed as an actual arrowhead and it has been used as a weapon in the past. 

San’s horns curl around his head, sprouting from his temples and twisting to the back of his head where the point faces behind him. They bend slightly twice, faintly resembling the body of a snake. They blend into the black color of his hair, only standing out against some of the blond streaks of the bottom half. His hair is similar to Wooyoung’s, though shorter than that of his mate. 

The next of the kingdom's rulers is Kang Yeosang, the leader of the third ring: envy. As the fourth eldest, this sin was delegated to his rule. No one knows if it is his true sin, as Yeosang is very good at concealing his secrets. 

Yeosang, like his king, was born with the ability to heal. His powers manifested young, and they continued to grow as he reached maturity. Though they cannot revive the dead, there are few wounds that Yeosang cannot heal. Those that are beyond his strength to heal are usually those who have been wounded by an angel - their blades are filled with a celestial purity Yeosang cannot counteract. 

Much of Yeosang’s demon form resembles a dragon - including his massive wings. The scales of his impressive wings appear a deep obsidian black to the plain eye. However, under the rays of the sun, the scales shift in color - like mica. Rippling magnificently in hues of royal purple and forest green - hints of an iridescent blue catching the light when he shifts - the silky scales reveal a metallic sheen in the light. Since Yeosang’s demon characteristics are so dragon-like, the talons of his wings are slightly larger than some of his mates. The sharp, curled points are daunting when the shadow of his wingspan descends on his prey. 

His thick, dragon-like tail is coated in scales of the same caliber - a truly mesmerizing sight when Yeosang soaks up the few hours of mid-morning sun. Letting his scales shimmer and reflect beams of light, the healer muffles his laugh when he catches sight of his mates fawning over his beauty. 

Yeosang’s horns are slightly different from the other demon lords; while they emerge from his temples and curve up and over his head towards the back, there is a smaller second set of horns slightly beneath the first. The second set of inky horns are the same shape as the first, just a fraction smaller. Slightly less than half of the size of his main horns, the second set curls in the same fashion over his head, the tips pointed slightly upward. Yeosang’s honey blonde hair does not conceal the root of his horns, allowing a little glimpse of the scales around his temples. Little iridescent scales scatter the base of his horns, as well as the base of his wings and tail as well. Due to his dragon-like appearance, these scales do shed once a season - a sensation that can cause itching and discomfort for the demon. However, the lord of envy claims his shedding season does not compare to that of his mate’s. 

Jeong Yunho, third eldest of the demon rulers, presides over the second ring: greed. The tallest of his mates, Yunho’s energetic and joyful demeanor disappears when in command of his court. Lower demons often find themselves cowering under his intimidating stature, the stoic expression on his face a drastic change from the one he wears inside the castle. 

One of Yunho’s strongest abilities emerges in the form of emotions. Aside from the soulbond between his mates, Yunho has an uncanny ability for sensing and changing feelings. As he honed the ability, he quickly discovered how to manipulate the strings of a person's emotions. Soon after, he grew adept at his skill, and found a place at Hongjoong’s side in the palace – being able to meddle with the emotions of those not so easily convinced is a marvelous ability, is it not? 

Yunho’s demon form appears a fraction of a color lighter than some of his mates. Rather than the dark colors of other forms, Yunho’s demon form is coated in shades of gold and ochre. His wings are composed of the same bat-like membrane of San’s, however, unlike his partner, Yunho also has a second set of wings. Though they are much smaller than the first, two shorter wings, like the hind-wings of a butterfly, emerge from beneath the fore-wings. Both are a dark shade of ochre, each set is remarkably deadly. The bone fingers that form the structure of his wings extend beyond the membrane of his wings, sharpening to a knife-like point and making his wings a dangerous asset. Each section of golden bone looks like a dagger, and when he fully expands his daunting wings, Yunho looks frighteningly beautiful. Yunho’s wings are not often seen as they are deadly to the touch, and he fears harming those he cares about. 

The tail extending from the base of Yunho’s spine is also a golden ochre color, and it resembles his wings as well. The thin tail has dagger-like spines along its length. Each one looks like the bony claws that his wings possess, and they protrude about an inch from his tail in a vaguely triangular shape. 

Yunho’s horns, also the inky black that his mates possess, curl forward from his temples instead of back. They push forward an inch before twisting upwards to point towards the sky, meeting above the center of his forehead and leaving just an inch of space in between. They too, blend in with his dark hair, and the base of his horns is hidden beneath the mess of black hair. 

Park Seonghwa is the eldest of the demon rulers. As such, he maintains control of the highest of the seven rings: pride. Seonghwa is one of the few rulers to reveal that his true sin matches the ring he rules. 

The eldest of the kingdom’s lords is a bit of an enigma when it comes to his powers. Very few have seen the extent of his abilities, and those who have are only privy to short glimpses and small tricks. While frustratingly complex, Seonghwa’s powers involve time. Able to see and alter different strings of reality, Seonghwa can glimpse into timelines. With ease, he can open and close gateways to another timeline, as well as take glances into the events of such timelines. However, due to the strength of this power and the dire consequences that could result from a mistake, Seonghwa does not use them often. Only at the request of his king, or at his own personal haste, does Seonghwa divulge in the mystery of his power. Though, even without using them, the eldest has an uncanny clairvoyance for matters of importance. 

Seonghwa’s wings are fairly similar to Wooyoung’s, with ebony feathers coating the appendages. He, however, only has one set of wings rather than two. Additionally, Seonghwa has the bone-like claw at the tip of his wings that some of his mates have - a feature Wooyoung does not. Both he and his feathered mate undergo a molting season as new feathers replace the old. Wooyoung and Seonghwa typically spend much of this time together, as they understand the exact care the other needs during this time. 

The eldest has a long, charcoal colored tail that spits at the tip, forming two separate prehensile tails. Each of these tails can move on its own, giving him the appearance of having two rather than one. The skin is almost scale-like, but does not have the same texture that Yeosang does. 

Seonghwa’s horns extend from a little closer to his forehead, rather than his temple. They are thin, but strong, curling around his head like a crown of antlers. Sort of deer-like in appearance, the horns split into branches and end at the back of his head. Though his hair is an inky black, the base of his horns can sometimes be seen due to the undercut along the side of his head. 

Kim Hongjoong, better known as the High King of Hell, rules over the entirety of the Kingdom of Dawn. Every demon in the realm knows better than to challenge the king. Blessed with incredible power and guarded by seven of the realm’s strongest, he is a demon to be feared. Most demons steer clear of the king, intimidated by his power and his status, but those who work closely with him know that he is not an unjust ruler. Hongjoong, despite how intimidating he appears, is a well-liked king. He is fair and dependable as a ruler, and does not treat his realm poorly. Though his rule is unquestionable, he always treats each subject with the same importance as the last - each opinion matters equally when it comes to decision making. However, Hongjoong is still a demon - one of the most powerful of his kind; so should his rule ever come into question, you will be reminded why he is High King. 

As a demon of great power, Hongjoong has a plethora of abilities and an extensive knowledge of magic. He can cast spells and brew potions among other tricks, but one of his strongest powers is one that is not commonly seen: Hongjoong is able to delve into people’s minds. He can communicate via the mind, as well as view and alter a person’s thoughts and memories. It’s an extremely useful ability - but a very dangerous one too. Additionally, with enough practice and the right mentor, your mind can be guarded from prying eyes. However, it takes exceptional strength to hide your thoughts from a demon like Hongjoong. Most commonly, this ability of the king is used to establish a connection between the mind’s of his mates. This allows them to speak to each other without a regard for the distance that may separate them. 

The High King’s demon form is regal. With blood-red wings adorned with golden embellishments decorating the bone structure, Hongjoong is kingly. His wingspan is the largest of his mates, and the large shadow of his frame is daunting. The appendages are a similar bat-like membrane as many other demons. 

Hongjoong does not have a tail in his demon form. However, he does have a venom running through his veins - manifesting the strongest in his fangs. Hongjoong’s bite has the capability of forcing neurotoxin into his prey. The king controls the venom as he pleases, so not every bite is laced with toxin. 

The king's horns are very similar to those of his eldest lover, Seonghwa. Both demons have antler-like horns, though Hongjoong’s appear slightly less delicate. They are a fraction firmer, with less branches that are a little thicker than his mate’s. Hongjoong’s horns also curl around his head, ending facing behind him in a secondary crown - the golden circlet between his horns being the first. Hongjoong’s horns are also decorated in the golden jewelry that embellish his wings. They disappear into a mess of brown hair that is long enough to rest against the base of his neck. 

So, my dear, with the knowledge of the Kingdom of Dawn now revealed and your fate in the hands of eight demon lords, answer me this: 

Are you ready to meet the crown rulers of Hell?

the first installment of the Kingdom of Dawn: dewdrops at dawn – poly!ot8 ateez x fem!reader [demon au]

Pick another door. 

a/n: I think I said the word ‘demon’ at least a hundred times in this :0 I felt like I was writing a research paper when I wrote this lol! it was a little strange, but I really wanted to expand on some of the lore in this universe!! 

did anyone catch who san’s abilities were inspired by? he’s like the only character from the book I liked lol xD 

[calcahro]

[WUTHERING WAVES LORE GUIDE]

Explaining Tacet Discords

Short thread I did for Twitter

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Tacet Discords are sentient beings formed by the residual chaotic frequency energy. They have yellow Tacet Cores on their bodies, and amorphous, ever-changing shape. They instinctly feed on other frequencies to maintain stability and evolve.

These creatures mimic the abilities, shapes, and behaviors of others and are influenced by the types of frequencies they consume. There are 5 known Tacet Discord mimicry types listed on an in-game document: Whisperin, Howler, Tranquilite, Clamorling, and Staticoid. SOUNDS!

To learn these, you can do the following:

Read Tacet Core Drop descriptions, observe the shape of Tacet Core, observe TD behavior/shape (do they mimic a human trait/role, do they behave like an animal, do they have mechanical parts, do they resemble other things on the planet).

For clarity, when I use the term Tacet Core from now on, I am referring to the distinct ones you can see on their bodies. When I say Tacet Core Drop, I am referring to the items in your inventory. No drops in-game for the other 3 mimicry types that aren't Whisperin and Howler.

1) Whisperin: Humanoid mimicry.

These Tacet Discords stand on two feet, can mimic warriors, use instruments, etc. Human traits!

Example: You have Crownless, who mimics a Knight but can never grasp the concept of chivalry and Knighthood, rendering it a ghost of endless warfare.

Whisperin Tacet Discords have a Tacet Core that resemble a star.

Here are the descriptions of the low frequency, middle frequency, and high frequency Whisperin Tacet Core Drops. "Broken star", "Frequency Energy aligns with the hearing range of normal people".

In the Act about Qichi Village, you will come across this Tick Tack Whisperin Tacet Discord, who repeats the words of a young child from village because it absorbed their frequencies. And sorry for the ugly picture my xbox gamebar wasn't cooperating and I was impatient...

2) Howler: Animal mimicry. or just Organic? (I'll come back to this later)

Example: The apes and dreadmane hounds.

To me, Howler Tacet Discord have a Tacet Core that resemble a rose. They are rounder compared to other Tacet Cores.

<NOT SOLID>

3) Tranquilites: Earth? Inorganic?

Example: The prisms that are immune when you attack them with similar frequencies. Any Tacet Discord whose appearance resembles rocks or other earth material.

Tranquilite Tacet Cores appear rigid and layered on their bodies.

Fission Junrock. Description: "A Common Class Tranquilite TD inhabiting mountaineous areas. Often overlooked due to its lava-like shape."

Vanguard Junrock. Description: The same except "lava-like shape" -> replaced with "rock-like appearance".

I did say you can identify Whisperins if they walk on two feet, but that's not the ONLY factor. Stonewall Bracer is not considered Whisperin despite walking on two feet. Description: "An Elite Tranquilite TD found in mountainous areas. They bear huge sizes and inhabit rocks."

What about ROCKsteady Guardian? Looks like its composed of rocks, but the highlight for it is the role it assumes: a Guardian. It attacks and protects like one. (Same with the Chasm Guardian TD). It has the humanoid description, Whisperin Tacet Core, and behaves like a warrior.

Roseshroom has Tranquilite description, yet visible Howler Tacet Core on body. This is why I wrote Earth? or Inorganic? For most Tranquilite they are inorganic, but not if the plant TD are involved. Howlers could also be the organic umbrella and then it would make sense too.

Here are the descriptions of the middle frequency, and high frequency Howler Tacet Core Drops. "Natural cycle of life".

4) Staticoids: TD attached to man-made objects... or (Act 5 with Court of Savantae).

Examples: Mech abomination, Autopuppet scout which is in a discarded vehicle, Traffic Illuminator, Chaserazor/Carapace (the car TD).

The visible Tacet Core on Autopuppet is square-ish like Tranquilites, but not exactly the same. The similar shape can be because man-made objects are also inorganic (DUH). But to me, the Tranquilite Tacet Cores have more stacked layers.

Last time I checked, Mech abomination had a Clamorling drop but a Staticoid description. So keep that in mind... another inconsistent element, I know. The Tacet Core for Staticoid TD looks rigid and square-ish, but not stacked layers like Tranquilite.

5) STUPID Clamorlings. I have yet to find a TD with this classification besides Mech Abomination, but again, Mech Abomination had a Clamorling drop but Staticoid description. You will learn a bit about this TD in Act 5, at the laboratory where it is located.

Anyways that's all I have to say about Tacet Discords for now. I'll come back to this if anything changes down the line and if we get more Tacet Core Drops for the other 3 mimicry types in the future. Whisperin is honestly the most solid out of the rest, bye bye

[ichorai]

how long does it normally take you to write? i mean you have some relatively normal sized fics but you also have some real behemoths. i guess im just wondering how the planning goes for those and if you stick to any outlines and especially with the made by design fic (now series!!) how did planning the second part go/feel? did you always know you would do a pt 2? are you having troubles with it that you didnt have on part 1?? idk im rlly curious LMFAO

most of my really long fics closely follow show material (like the i'm not made by design fic, the roman roy hell yeah series, etc) so it's really easy to write a lot more since most of it is already laid out for me!

as for the second part of i'm not made by design, it's not following show canon anymore so it took a lot longer to plan and work out the details, especially considering george rr martin's world is so vast but intertwined, there's rlly a lot of plot threads to get a grasp of! sometimes it's also really hard to write/plan bcs i'm desperately trying to keep everyone in character, but planning it was really sooo much fun, i basically just workshopped how i want the books to go/how i wished the show went </3

i didn't think i was going to be writing a second part while writing the first part, but i also wasn't against the idea! i think because i really thought nobody would read the first part, it was more of a personal project that i wanted to write myself, so i was super surprised when people actually ended up liking it a lot!

thank you for asking !!! find it so sweet that you're curious about the writing process :(

[demonicdeadbeat]

𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔯

I'm Oliver (he/they interchangable), I'm in my 30s, and I'm a roleplayer and writer who does (sometimes very) lazy literate style roleplay. I'm disabled, trans masculine nonbinary, neurodivergent and I like to think I'm a decent enough RP partner if we click. I have Discord, which is predominantly where I roleplay. I reply usually multiple times a day.

I don't care much about literacy levels or mistakes, as long as you have some grasp of English and we're having fun, why does it matter?

You must be 21+ to RP or interact with me. I have no interest in even SFW RP with minors. I don't care about your IRL gender or what have you though.

𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤

Most of these are m×m as I strongly prefer that. Enby×m is fine also. I do f×m incredibly rarely and only if I can play the guy. Trans and intersex characters are very much welcome. Some of my favourite OCs are trans masc themselves and I sometimes AU my favourite canon characters as trans masc too.

Generally I will play either half of these pairings. I also enjoy occasionally doubling up if there's a plot you really want to play also.

I enjoy writing smut and kink immensely, but do also enjoy plot too. A 50/50 split is good. I have a Kink Garden page I can give out on request to see if our kinks align.

I only use real person or solely descriptive FCs. No anime and no cartoons, sorry. I am not picky about your FC usually. I generally favour FCs over 25 at least, and tend to only play people over 30 myself.

I really like becoming friends outside of the RP, I love making playlists, mood boards, chatting, text message threads if appropriate, etc.

My characters are usually switches and vers, but I can assume a more top or Dom role, or a more bottom or submissive role, if it works with the RP.

I do not generally use Tupperbox or related bots but I could for the right RP partner!

Fandom Based:

Generally I am very open to AUs and love putting my favourite characters into them, so don't be afraid to ask if you have your heart set on an AU for any of the following.

Good Omens (Aziraphale × Crowley)

FFXIV (OC × OC only)

Baldur's Gate 3 (Astarion × Gale, Astarion × Wyll, Astarion × Halsin, Gale x Wyll, Durge × Most Male Canon Characters, Tav × Most Male Canon Characters)

Fandomless:

All of these ideas are deliberately vague, so we can plot together!

Modern with Supernatural Creatures (Vampire × Werewolf, Werewolf × Werewolf, Undead/Immortal race × Human, Monster × Human generally)

Modern with Magic (Any pairing that fits the setting, including AUs)

Dungeons and Dragons-esque/High Medieval Fantasy (Knight × Prince, Prince × Commoner, Adventurer × Adventurer, Monster × Humanoid generally, Pirates, High Society, Forbidden Romance, any other pairing that fits the setting, including AUs)

Modern (Kinky Hedonist × Newbie to the Kink Scene and other kink lifestyle based plots, Sugar Baby x Sugar Daddy, Musician × Techie, Poet × Musician, Writer × Editor, Florist × Artist, Artist × Muse, Soulmates AU, Forbidden Romance pretty much anything)

Omegaverse (Can be added onto any other plot tbh, I usually play Alpha or Beta against an Omega, but could play an Omega too if wanted against your Alpha or Beta.)

Interested? Contact me through this blog and I'll send you my Discord username!

[unhinged-motogp-confessions]

all the prev anons about the lorenzo rossi marquez conspiracy that we've somehow once again revived from the dead, as we are wont to do: it might be controversial to say but rossi is slightly unscrupulous in the way that he convinces the public that he is not. but he is, in this sense, a bit of an unsavory character ; he is the one who started the media arms race i.e all drivers from his time then on had to put on a pr front to some extent. furthermore, im sure he had some modicum of respect for the riders who most directly competed against him i.e lorenzo and stoner, however it wasn't to the point that he acknowledged them as equals--recall when he went to apologize to stoner with his helmet on, although i am sure this is up to personal interpretation. i am sure some people may have believed a private face to face apology would have been better than the seeming pr stunt rossi pulled off (stoner probably would have favored this) but this again can be excused as the cameras always following him, BUT (and you can see how i am talking in circles here, this is thread that rossi spins: plausible deniability) BECAUSE he knows the cameras always follow him it is not any fault of his own that they filmed the exchange etc. he moved to ducati no doubt because it was advantageous, an italian in an italian team, but also to solidify his hold over stoner; if i can win on a ducati, a bike you had a hand in developing, then you aren't what you think you are. that didn't work out for him and so the pendulum swung in the other direction, it was nothing to do with him at all (indeed the bike was bad that can be said for certain). once again he arrives in yamaha. once again, lorenzo is his teammate, and once again it is back to things as they were before. but they were not because rossi's narrative of his greatness was slowly starting to slip from his grasp. stoner won the first year of the worst point in rossi's career at that point. then lorenzo won. then rossi moved back to yamaha and had to bide his time for winning, because that just wasn't the plan anymore. then the narrative ultimately shattered with marquez. i should have prefaced this by saying that i acknowledge rossi's efforts in raising the next generation of riders, i do think he is a good person in this sense. however this can be true alongside the other not so good facets of his character. apologies for, among other things, the numerous commas, semicolons AND the length of this ask.

.

[typhoonvash]

I was REALLY scared to follow at first, I always am with new blogs, and I kept seeing you write with everyone else in the rpc. Then we both were in the gunsmoke server and I got to know you more as a person, and finally got the courage to follow and interact. I've stayed because of the writing synergy I feel we have. Even if neither of us have the energy to do threads sometimes, even just replying to prompts, memes, etc Ive always felt we both have good grasps on each other's muses, and are able to weave together interesting and fun dynamics that make me so excited to get notifications from you! I swear, there have been times where you answer meme prompts and I literally kick my feet lmao.

Keep going!! You're doing great!

what drew you to my blog/why did you stay

○|￣|_ that is a whole mood about threads and energy and i'm really sorry i've been slacking in that regard, even sending prompts has been scary lately because i overthink and then i dont know if i can commit to things like before

dsflkskjdf thank you sm i'm glad you like my writing ;-; i like yours too and they do synergize well together~

[urconductor]

#URCONDUCTOR; indie roleplay blog for pom-pom from honkai: star rail, written by ender. canon & headcanon-based. please read rules before interacting!

DOSSIER. (tbd. pom-pom is an adult and goes by they/he pronouns tho)

RULES BELOW CUT.

Hello, hello! I’m Ender, an adult and an extroverted gal with autism and ADHD. Thanks for taking the time to read this! There’s no password to send in, so no need to look for one! Please read these carefully. Be 16 or above to interact.

BLACKLIST: TRIGGERS. i NEED these tagged. i have a physiological and psychological response to these topics that can greatly affect my mental health. if you can't respect my triggers, we cannot write together. My catch-all tags are "ender dont look" and "ender don't look".

any religious themes, emphasis on them when they're minor, and/or religious intolerance.

use of the word “god” in reference to powerful beings. Replacing such things with “ruler”/etc and generally making relations akin to king/subjects are good buffers that I can work with.

excessive verbal swearing

craneflies and daddy-long-legs

Extremely heavy organic gore visuals, especially in regard to organs, guts, and the heart

vi.vziepop, good omens, supernatural, c.ult of the lamb

BLACKLIST: SQUICKS. i'd appreciate these being tagged as well, but they do not spawn a severe reaction from me. i just want to avoid them.

any deep, in-depth descriptions of non-fantasy occult/magic + occult in general (like direct mentions of ouija boards, details of rituals, and stuff)

all smut and lewd content

politics/drama

TAGGING. I tag writing and fictional-related talk of potentially triggering topics as #trigger cw. various medias are tagged as #media cw. If I miss anything or you need something tagged, please tell me in DMs! i’m happy to help you curate your experience, and i want everyone to stay safe. /gen

INTERACTIONS.

non-roleplay blogs, please do not reblog any of my posts. if it's someone else's art/musing/photo/etc I've reblogged, those are free game! but please do not touch posts made by me whether they are in-character, out-of-character, or just my sketches. thanks!

I am mutually exclusive but am generally super friendly! I'll give nearly everyone a chance, even if I don’t know the muse or media! Crossovers, even with no plotting beforehand, are really fun.

i require a rules page to read before I follow, and won’t follow until I’ve read the rules. I tend to like promos to bookmark them so I can read the person’s rules later.

i won’t follow people who do not tag any of their posts. even basic “ic” or “ooc” or “musing” tags and such are good! I don’t care how fancy or simple your tags are, I just care that you have them and use them consistently.

i am duplicate and OC-friendly! For OCs, I require at least a simple About page to look at ‘cause I prefer to know your character a little before interacting! Duplicates are also fun for me to plot with ‘cause past/future meetings, AU meets canon, etc. are SUPER epic plots and very fun! I’m very used to duplicates and have been for years across different RPCs ^.^

i do not roleplay in “character: text” or *action* format. I prefer to interact with people who roleplay paragraph style and have a basic grasp of grammar, punctuation, and spelling; I completely understand if English isn’t your first language, though!

i do not mind unplotted violence against my muse, especially if they're messing around and finding out. however, make sure you are also prepared for the consequences. I love action and battle threads, but anything significant must be plotted.

MUN POLICIES.

Mun does NOT equal muse. Just because I, the mun, think or know something does not mean that my muse will. I’m an omnipresent narrator, they are characters in-universe. They each will have different thoughts and opinions than I will. It should go without saying that I do not condone everything any of my muses do.

i am a slow writer. I have college and several other things that take up my time, so I can’t be here twenty-four-seven! Also, my muse fluctuates. I may reply to something instantly if I have the muse for it, or I may get to it weeks later. I hoard drafts and asks like a dragon to get to them eventually! BUT feel free to nudge me if you want to remind me, I won’t mind!

importantly, I match my partner’s energy. If someone frequently engages me to talk about our characters, I’m likely to do the same! Unfortunately, the same applies if we hardly interact or talk at all; I’m good at interacting and communicating first, but I have a limited pool of energy.

i do not ship romantically on this blog. I don’t mind others’ romantic content, I simply personally abstain from writing romantic ships due to being harassed over them in the past. However, I love familial ships, platonic ships, rivalries, work relationships, enemy/antagonistic dynamics, and relations that can't necessarily be defined with words!

ON FANDOMS & MEDIA.

Expect headcanons to sometimes fluctuate and also expect canon divergence.

i am unaffiliated with any fandoms or creators.

i will interact with/make AUs for the following fandoms. Still, they can be tagged upon request: Final Fantasy(i know the most about VII, VIII, IX, X, XV, Unlimited, Dissidia, Dissidia 012), Sonic The Hedgehog, Pokemon, Portal, Gravity Falls, Ducktales 2017, A Hat in Time, Little Nightmares, Over The Garden Wall, OMORI, IB, The Legend of Zelda, Don’t Starve, Pocket Mirror, Super Mario Bros., Spiderverse, and Overwatch. I am very selective but not opposed to Five Nights at Freddy's, Murder Drones and The Amazing Digital Circus interactions. For these, if I followed you first/we’re mutuals, then we’re chill!