#assorted beasts and creatures

[iiryebreadii]

video ID/transcription under the cut :)

[video ID and transcription: video taken of the interior of an outdoor griddle, with a flashlight illuminating the space. The space is filled with twigs, leaves, and other materials to form a bird's nest.

"Are there babies in here? Do I hear ba—"

A baby bird pops its head out of the pile of twigs

*sound of high-pitched peeping of a baby bird*

*responding high-pitched squeal of delight* "Hi!!"

End]

[iiryebreadii]

let’s snuggle with mama

Mama cow with her baby :3

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 5)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev) (Next)

            Water Curtain Cave was, unsurprisingly, loud. Even before you entered the cavern, overlapping voices and the muffled roar of the waterfall echoed off the stone walls.

��           Shihou had woken you from your nap and escorted you through the halls of the palace. It was less mazelike than the secret tunnels though the possibility of getting lost was still high. Down more stairs and along an arching hallway, you could hear the commotion long before entering the room.

            Demons were gathered in the colossal chamber; mostly monkeys of assorted kinds with a few other creatures mixed in. Some were short, perching on tables and chairs for a better view, while others towered over the rest of the group. Most wore casual robes with a handful dressed in armor and carrying weapons.

             As soon as you entered, Shihou led you away from the crowd to an empty space near the back wall. He leaned in close so you could hear him over the rest of the noise, “Think you’ll be alright here for a little bit?” The deeper tone of his voice still carried the familiar blend of mischief and assurance that usually brought you comfort. Now, it did little quell your shock.

            “You’re leaving me alone?” you hissed quietly, eyeing the demons closest to you.

            “I have to help the guards and make sure everyone’s been summoned.”

            You crossed your arms and raised a brow. “You’re a guard, too?”

            “Yeah, I thought I mentioned that!” Shihou scratched at his head while his face suddenly flushing pink. “You think the King sent just anybody to keep an eye on you?”

            “You were sent to spy on me?”

            “I was sent to investigate an intruder,” he countered. “When you weren’t a threat, I was tasked with protecting you instead. Consider me your royally assigned bodyguard.”

            “That’s why you’ve been helping me?” It was perfectly logical but realizing your new friend was just doing his job stung a bit. You could only sigh as the disappointment weighted you down. “Guess that makes sense.”

            Shihou frowned, noticing your sudden low mood. “Are you okay?”

            “I’ll be fine,” you wave him off. “Go do your duty; I’m sure the King won’t appreciate any further delays.”

            There was a tense moment as Shihou’s golden eyes studied you. He seemed hesitant to go but the crowd was growing impatient, the room echoing with disgruntled chatter. When he could wait no longer, Shihou nodded reluctantly.

            “I’ll find you after the announcement is over.” Before you could respond, he pulled you into a hug. It was warm, reassuring, and filled with the faint scent of peaches and mountain stone. “I helped you because I wanted to, orders or not,” he murmured in your ear. The tickling of his breath and the honesty in his words colored your cheeks in a bashful blush. “You’re still my peach friend, right?”

            Not trusting your voice, you nodded against his shoulder. When Shihou pulled away, a relieved smile pulled at his lips and softened his eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t be far.”

            In a blink, he stepped back and blended into the crowd, vanishing before your very eyes. You scanned the cave but he was lost in the mass of other demons. Now alone, you leaned against the wall, ignoring the sudden chill left after Shihou’s warm embrace.

            Nearly everyone else was holding gossipy conversation with their neighbors. As few demons had noticed your presence and threw curious glances from a distance. You pretended not to notice, watching the empty throne across the cavern.

            The legends of your village and Shihou’s stories whirled through your mind. You had never seen the Monkey King and didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he was kind like his demon subjects proclaimed. But that didn’t mean his infamous distain for humans couldn’t also be true. Was it all a trap to lure you in before punishing you for trespassing? Perhaps some kind of prank before he personally banished you from his mountain? Curiosity mixed with anxiety and tied your stomach into knots as you waited for his much-anticipated arrival.

            A thunderous cheer shook the cave, startling you from your thoughts. Over the excited waves and bows of the demons, you could see movement by the throne.

            Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, had appeared.

            He was too far away to see clearly but even at a distance, he cut a regal figure; tall and imposing with an air of authority as he looked out over his subjects. His golden armor gleamed in the light. A crimson cape flowed from his shoulders. Twin phoenix feathers arched over his head from an ornate crown. When he held up a hand, the room fell silent, all the demons hushed by a single gesture.

            “Everyone, thank you for your patience!” His voice rang through the cave, bold and clear as a bell. “I’m here to announce a new arrival on Fruit and Flower Mountain. A human from the nearby village will be staying with us as a royal guest. They are under my protection and are not to be harmed. They, in turn, will be expected to follow our laws.”

            The Monkey King’s focus shifted across the room where you stood. Despite being too far to meet his eye, you could still feel the weight of his intense stare. When he spoke, the words were directed solely at you.

            “Those of the mountain may take what they need; outsiders are not allowed. Those of the mountain must share with those in need; there’s plenty to go around. Those of the mountain may not harm each other; we only fight to protect and defend. Follow these rules and you may stay as long as you like. To everyone else,” his attention turned back to the crowd. “I ask you show them our ways and make them feel welcome. Any concerns or grievances will be addressed by me personally.”

            With a flick of his cape, the Monkey King turned and sauntered away, disappearing through a doorway behind his throne. A cacophony of noise followed his exit, the applause and shouts of the crowd deafening in the enclosed space. Everyone was too preoccupied to notice you against the back wall, ears covered and eyes searching for an exit. Your startled yelp was lost in the chaos when hands grabbed your shoulder and a familiar face appeared before you.

            “There you are! Come on, it’s quieter this way!” Shihou took your wrist, guiding you away from the group and back the way you had arrived. No one noticed as you slipped out into the empty and mercifully quiet hall.

            “See, that wasn’t so bad!” Shihou said once you could hear yourself think.

            “I guess,” you agreed after a settling moment. “It was shorter than I expected.”

            He only shrugged. “Eh, long speeches are boring. Better to just get to the point.”

            “Seems the King agrees with that sentiment. And here I was nervous about actually meeting him,” you admitted, remembering his brief, undivided attention. The sheer presence and intimidating stare were almost too much even at a distance. An up close and personal audience with the King seemed a daunting endeavor.

            Shihou’s golden gaze was sympathetic and little regretful. “He wants to meet you but also doesn’t want overwhelm you. Once you feel more comfortable, maybe I can make the introductions?”

            “I’ll have to meet him some day, I suppose.” While formal greetings might be unavoidable, it didn’t mean they had to done alone. “Promise you’ll be there?”

            “I promise,” Shihou said, something sly hidden in his smile. “Why don’t we head back to your room? I’m sure you’re ready for dinner and some proper sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour of the village and you can meet some of the other monkeys.”

            Nodding, you followed after Shihou, noting the familiar path of your retraced steps.

            “Are the others going to accept having a human on their mountain?” you asked, thinking back to the gathering of demons. Most didn’t seem threatening but it would be hard to tell until it was too late. “I’d hate to mess up the rules and upset anyone.”

            “Don’t worry so much!” Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, Shihou pulled you into a one-sided hug. It was surprising but you didn’t try to escape his hold. “They might need some time to warm up to strangers but you’ll feel at home in no time. If any one has a problem with it, they can take it up with the King. Besides,” Shihou grinned knowingly. “You’ve already done well in following the rules.”

            “When? I only just heard about them.”

           “The night we first met,” he answered. “You didn’t take anything that wasn’t offered, you didn’t try to hurt me like most humans would do, and you even shared the peach I gave you. That proved you weren’t here to cause trouble and that’s why you’re allowed to stay.”

            With the sunlight and distinguishing relics decorating the wall, you were just starting to recognize the wing of the palace right as Shihou stopped in front of your door. His arm vanished, once again leaving you chilled after the brief affection.

            “Guess I’ll go see about dinner,” he said with a cheeky salute. “Call if you need anything; I won’t be far.”

            “Shihou!” you called as he turned to leave. He glanced down at you, head tilted curiously. “I just wanted to say…thank you. For being my friend. I don’t know what would have happened to me without your help.”

            Shihou’s golden eyes widened in surprise, his face turning red and fur fluffing up. “Of course!” he squeaked, refusing to meet your eye as his body froze in mortification. He cleared his throat before attempting to speak again. “I’ll be there any time you need me.”

            With a final flustered nod, Shihou whirled around and marched down the corridor, tail thrashing behind him the whole way. You watched until he disappeared before closing the door with a giggle. Outside the window, the fruits and flowers of the mountain were gilded in the light of the setting sun. You watched, pondering everything from before and everything that was to come as the last glowing rays slipped below the horizon.

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: false killer whale

Assorted creatures and beasts of the audience, I have been duped. Tricked. Bamboozled, even. I was all ready to write a post on the mighty orca, but this imposter snuck in and tricked me into researching it instead. So this week, I'm covering the false killer whale. You win this time, imposter.

This guy knows he tricked me and he's smug about it.

(Image: a false killer whale poking its head out of the water and sticking its tongue out. It has a bulbous, rounded head with a large snout and eyes on the side. Several conical teeth are showing ad a thick, pink tongue is poking out.)

The false killer whale (Pseudorca crassidens) is actually a dolphin, but the real killer whale is a dolphin too, so I won't hold that against it. False killer whales are closely related to Risso's dolphin, the melon-headed whale (a dolphin), pygmy killer whale (still a dolphin), and the pilot whale (you guessed it, a dolphin). Also dolphins are a subset of toothed whales so this joke was pointless. They are large for dolphins, being the fourth largest species after the orca and two species of pilot whale. Females can reach 5 meters (16 ft) long and 1,200 kg (2,600 lbs) while the large males can reach 6 m (20 ft) and 2,300 kg (5,100 lbs). False killer whales have a similar body shape to orcas, but lack the distinctive black and white coloration, instead being dark gray all over. They have slender bodies with bulges on the front of their flippers and bulbous heads. The bulge on the head contains the melon, a fatty organ toothed whales use to focus their echolocation and vocalizations by acting as a sound lens.

(Image: a pod of 6 false killer whales. They are robust dolphins with bulbous heads and are grey in color. The head lacks the beak seen in may dolphin species and the upper jaw extend beyond the lower one. A single bottlenose dolphin has joined the pod, identifiable by its smaller size and distinct beak. End ID)

False killer whales are found along the coasts and deep oceans of most of the world, from tropical to subpolar latitudes. There are multiple distinct populations that tend to reside in the same general area. These populations can be recognized with unique behavior and vocalizations. They are generally regarded as apex predators, though there have been reports of individuals being attacked by sharks. Their preferred prey is fish and squid, including large fish like tuna. They also prey on other marine mammals, including small or juvenile dolphins and whales. There have even been reports of pods attacking sperm whales. Members of the same pod will share food with each other. Their hunting style is mostly pursuit predation with tactic including ambushes and herding prey into choke points and dead ends. They will also dive for food, and while not much is known about their diving behavior, it appears to be similar to that of related species. Tagged individuals have been recorded going on 12-minute dives and dives as deep as 927.5 m (3,043 ft) though most dives don't go that deep.

(Image: a false killer whale breaching the water, seen mid-jump. End ID)

False Killer whales are highly social animals. As with their close relatives, they live in large pods that typically range from 10 to 20 members and are mostly extended family units led by the oldest female. Males that reach maturity will often leave the pods to seek out mates. Individual families will have their own hunting tactics and vocalizations that are passed down from mother to child. All the females in the pod take part in raising the calves. They communicate with complex vocalizations and body language. False killer whale sociability does not only extend to other members of their species. They are known to peacefully interact with other dolphin species, most notable the common bottlenose dolphin, which whom they will sometimes form mixed-species pods (possibly in reaction to food shortages). False killer whales are also known to respond to distress calls from other dolphin or whale species and help protect them from predators. They have even been recorded helping other species give birth by protecting the mother and helping remove the afterbirth (possibly to eat it). False killer whales have been observed cooperatively hunting fish with true killer whales, working together to herd and capture prey. In these cases, the orcas will take the larger fish while the false killer whales take the smaller ones. Wild false killer whales are reportedly curious about humans and have attempted to share food with divers.

(Image: a false killer whale swimming with a pod of bottlenose dolphins. End DI)

Not much is known about false killer whale reproduction. Based on their relatives, they are probably polygynous, with males attempting to mate with as many females as possible. Males probably provide little to no parental care and calves are raised by their pods. Calves are usually born in late winter after a 15 month gestation period. Newborns can measure up to 2.1 meters (7 ft) and will nurse for between 9 months and 2 years. Mothers will usually not mate until their most recent calf has weaned. False killer whales are one of the few whale species (and few species in general) that can live for a long time after menopause. These elder, non-reproductive females aid the younger mothers in raising their calves, passing on their experience to the younger generations. The maximum age of wild animals is not know, but based on captive specimens, it is up to 57 years for males and 62 for females, with females reaching menopause at 45 to 47 years. Sexual maturity is reach between 8 and 11 years, with males maturing sooner. Male false killer whales have been observed interacting sexually with common bottlenose dolphins, including with males. A hybrid of a male false killer whale and bottlenose dolphin is a wholphin and while extremely rare, they have been observed in the wild.

(Image: a juvenile false killer whale swimming alongside its mother, both seen peeking out of the water. The juvenile is a miniature adult. End ID)

(Image: two wholphins in captivity at Hawaii's Sea Life Park. They look like bottlenose dolphins with shorter beaks and the dark coloration of false killer whales. One has its mouth open. End ID)

There isn't a decent estimation of the wild population of false killer whales, though the population seems relatively stable and they are tentatively classified as near threatened by the IUCN. The Hawai'ian population is considered endangered due to large population losses. They have historically been hunted for meat, leather, and blubber and still are in Japan, where the most common method is using boats to chase them into nets or onshore. False killer whales are known to steal fish off of fishing lines, something that is dangers as swallowing kooks can lead to intestinal blockage or puncturing of the digestive system, both of which can be fatal. It is believed this is the main reason for the decline of the Hawai'ian population. Anglers may also target the dolphins considering them nuisances. False killer whales are know for frequent mass standings and nobody really knows exactly why. Often, whole pods, sometimes hundreds in number, will strand at once and subsequently die. These strandings seem to be increasing due to more extreme weather caused by climate change and possibly an increase in ocean noise. The noise cause by ships has been shown to increase cetacean mortality along major shipping lanes in other species. It has been suggested that the reason whole pods seems to strand together is that their social bond is so strong they will refuse to leave a wounded or stranded member behind. Rescue efforts can help at least some stranded animals return to the water. False killer whales are fairly common in captivity and are housed in aquariums in many countries. They are reported to be more adaptable to captivity than most cetaceans and are intelligent enough to be taught complex tricks. They have been successfully bread in captivity. I generally keep my opinions out of these posts, but I don't think it's really possible to ethically keep cetaceans in captivity outside of rehabilitation and release programs.

(Image: a captive young false killer whale. It has its head out of the water and mouth open, allowing a handler to examine its teeth. End ID)

[mononijikayu]

animals ― ryomen sukuna.

As they stood face to face, their breaths mingling in the stale air, Sukuna felt like they were consumed by a primal hunger that defied reason. The adrenaline rush from their latest crime pulsed through their veins like a potent elixir, fueling the flames of their dark desires. Without a word, Sukuna's hands moved with a feverish urgency, tracing the curves of his lover's body with a hunger that bordered on madness. His touch sent shivers down their spine, igniting a fire within them that burned with an intensity they could scarcely contain.

Genre: Serial Killer AU, No Curse AU;

Warning/s: R-18, Depiction of Murder, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Crime, Sadist Behaviour, Mentions of Graphic Violence, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Sexual Intercourse, Explicit Depiction of Harm, Toxic Relationship;

masterlist

listen: animals by maroon 5

note: my friend read the first installment of this, devil by the window, and asked where was the smut. so here it is, ig??? bear with this writer, i haven't written smut in a while. but anyway, enjoy!!!

HE WAS ENJOYING THE NIGHT SO FAR. In the dimly lit room, the air hung heavy with the scent of decay and anticipation. Shadows flickered and swayed, casting sinister shapes upon the peeling wallpaper like ghostly apparitions. In the center of this macabre stage stood Sukuna, his tall, lean frame cloaked in ether of darkness. His eyes, pools of red obsidian, gleamed with a predatory allure as they scanned the room with a chilling intensity.

Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated – the mark of a seasoned predator. And he knew it. He basked in the glory of being that animal. One that was feared by all. One that caused the fabric of human fear to manifest. His steps were silent, his presence like a whisper in the night. Sukuna exuded an aura of danger, a magnetism that drew others to him like moths to a flame.

They never knew what he was going to do next, they never knew what he was going to be next – a raging blood thirsty beast or a monster who devours. No one knew. And he adored it. 

His gaze lingered on the assortment of tools scattered across the room – knives, ropes, and other instruments of death. Each one was meticulously arranged, a testament to Sukuna's meticulous nature. He was a master of his craft, a connoisseur of pain and suffering.

For Sukuna was no ordinary killer – he was a force of nature, a creature of the night who reveled in the art of death, the art of manifesting fear. He was the master of all horrors. He had no limitations. It was not fun that way without it. And as he stood in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of his past conquests, he knew that tonight would be no different. Tonight, he would claim another victim, another soul to add to his ever-growing collection.

As he stood amidst the eerie ambiance, Sukuna's mind buzzed with excitement. Tonight, he would embark on another prey to hunt, another chance to indulge in his darkest desires. His heart quickened with anticipation, the thrill of the chase coursing through his veins like liquid fire. Somehow tonight, it was even more delightful, even more thrilling. Looking at his side, he could see the bubbling excitement in him. It felt like a drug each and every time this happened. 

Each and every night was a time to feel alive. But even more now, as he looked at his partner in crime by his side. He was even more enthusiastic, now that he wasn’t alone doing this. They were oozing with excitement, fidgeting with their fingers. They were itching to hold life and see it gone in an instant. To feel the scarlet river echo at the flesh, to feel the warmth bathe them whole. He could see it so vividly. He could feel it within their grasp.

Beside him stood his unlikely companion, his lover.  They were unlike anyone Sukuna had ever encountered – beautiful, enigmatic, and drawn to the darkness that consumed him. The moment he met them at that horribly dull party, walking into his life— somehow there finally came more in his life. With that dark look on their face, it makes one think that they were born for this life. They were his equal in every way, matching his thirst for thrill and danger. And it riled him up. It made everything about him electric. He could feel the blood boil down south in his member. He feels alive at this moment. But seeing them so vicious, so cruel, so vile. To be a creature of evil. He feels even more alive, knowing he could eat them whole. That he could take them himself, for his pleasure, for his desires, for his wants.

It was as if they were meant for each other, he thinks. They complete each other, make each other completely whole. Sukuna thinks he had been waiting for this his entire life. He has been waiting to feel like he had a pack, that he had a place to belong. He wouldn’t let them go, no. Not even if they wanted to. But he was sure he would not let go of him. They were as lonely as he was. So needy for thrill, for life to begin. He knew they could only find it with him. They would never be without any semblance of life without him. They would never leave him. They needed him. Otherwise, nothing would make sense. 

Together, Sukuna and his lover had embarked on a nightmarish journey, leaving behind a wake of destruction and despair that echoed their twisted desires. In the past few months together, they were hopping town to town, city to city, to commit to drenching the pavements with blood. He and his lover had laughed about the panic they had caused in each and every place they had gotten into turmoil. Each night, the nationwide news reporting on what they had done was the highlight of their dates. They reveled in the chaos, feeding off each other's primal urges with a fervor that bordered on madness.

Tonight was no exception to their macabre routine. They were both aching for more action after moving to another small, obscure town in the middle of nowhere. Sukuna had given his lover the choice of place, of prey, of tactic. He liked seeing his lover happy, after all. And Sukuna too knew that his lover was as a mastermind to crime as he. Everything had been going as planned. That made him howl with vicious laughter, one that even drowned out the screams he so loved to hear. 

As Sukuna wielded his blade with deadly precision, the thrill of violence surged through his veins like a drug. Each cut, each slice, each tear in flesh was a symphony of pain and pleasure, a twisted dance of death that left him intoxicated with power. But amidst the carnage, there was something else – something primal and forbidden that bound them together. It was a connection born of bloodlust and desperation, a bond that transcended the boundaries of morality and reason.

As Sukuna surveyed the aftermath of their rampage, he couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. His lover stood beside him, their hands stained crimson with the blood of the prey long gone. Their eyes gleamed with a feral hunger, their lips curved into a cruel smile that sent shivers down Sukuna's spine. He enjoyed this feeling, he knew that for certain. He grinned at their lust, boring down at the blood that spilled from their hair little by little.

Each and every time, they reveled in the manifestation of their darkest desires, their lust for blood and violence consuming them like wildfire. It was a sight both beautiful and grotesque, a testament to the depths of their depravity. The whole of it was brutal, a true manifestation of relentless viciousness. Yet it only pleased them. It only made them feel more eager to enjoy more and more of this debauchery. 

And as they stood amidst the carnage, Sukuna knew that he could live forever in this moment – a moment of pure, unadulterated madness that bound them together in a twisted embrace. For Sukuna and his dearest lover there was no turning back – they were monsters, born of darkness and consumed by the flames of their own creation. It was everything. He could feel his manhood harden more than before. He was certain that they were just as excited down south, eager for their foreplay to begin as soon as they finished.

As they stood face to face, their breaths mingling in the stale air, Sukuna felt like they were consumed by a primal hunger that defied reason. The adrenaline rush from their latest crime pulsed through their veins like a potent elixir, fueling the flames of their dark desires. Without a word, Sukuna's hands moved with a feverish urgency, tracing the curves of his lover's body with a hunger that bordered on madness. His touch sent shivers down their spine, igniting a fire within them that burned with an intensity they could scarcely contain.

His lover's fingers tangled in Sukuna's bloody hair, pulling him closer as their lips met in a fierce and desperate kiss. The taste of blood melting on their lips, the taste of the scarlet liquid burning their tongues with its salty, metallic ambiance. It was a collision of passion and violence, a melding of two souls bound together by the darkness that consumed them. 

It was like a burning flame, each and every kiss. It was more painful, more dangerous in each and every turn of their touch. They bit his lip so harshly, the blood poured almost instantaneously. Sukuna did not mind. It excited him even more. They looked at him, as they parted. Taking in the breath, they did not let Sukuna take more air. They leaned forward once more, licking the blood and consuming his lips into their own, gripping his tattooed arms to hold them down.

Their bodies moved as one, a symphony of desire and destruction as they succumbed to the primal urges that drove them. Their bloody clothes started to slowly be discarded with reckless abandon, revealing skin marred by scars and bruises, testament to the violence of their existence. But at this moment, none of it mattered. There was only the heat of their bodies pressed together, the frantic rhythm of their hearts beating in unison as they surrendered to the madness that engulfed them.

Sukuna grabbed his lover by the hair and pulled them towards him, kissing them passionately while pushing their body against each other. His lover moaned into the kiss as Sukuna trailed his lips down their bloody neck, licking the flesh clean with his tongue. He grins as he starts leaving bites and marks along the way, eliciting moan after moan at how harshly he bit one after the other. There was no control for him. No mercy. They loved it that way. He knew that too well.

Sukuna then pushed his beloved onto the bed and climbed on top of them, grinding his hips against theirs. He reached behind himself to unfasten his pants hastily, freeing his long suffering erection to rub against his lover's thigh. It was a melodious thing to hear, all the whimpering and groans and whispers against his skin. The clawing nails at his flesh drawing skin to wounds and blood. It was electrifying to be in their arms, not caring in the world for what monstrosity they had just unleashed , still laying somewhere around the house. Sukuna could only care about the sounds of their heavy breathing filled the room as they continued to make out, their hands roaming over each other's bodies.

As they moved faster and faster, Sukuna felt a surge of pleasure shoot through him at the thought of what he was about to do. With one swift motion, he tore open his partner's shirt and began to lick and bite at their chest, marking it with his teeth like he always did. His partner groaned in pain and pleasure as Sukuna used his tongue to create patterns on their skin. It was all too good, all too cruel. One could never live without this. Sukuna knew he couldn’t.

Finally, Sukuna positioned himself above his beloved, his breath hitching with anticipation as he slowly slid inside them, feeling the warmth of their embrace enveloping him. Their nails dug into his arms, a mixture of pain and pleasure rippling through their body as he entered them with a primal force. Sukuna was certain that the air had been punched from both their lungs at the pace. But he did not care. He just cared for getting off the high, for getting more and more, taking and taking. 

A guttural groan escaped Sukuna's lips, the culmination of hours spent holding back his primal urges, his hardened member now fully immersed in the depths of their being. He couldn't help but surrender to the sensation, lost in the intoxicating pleasure of being one with them. He was always a beast, an animal, a monster and they reveled to be in his arms, to take him and be hurt, to accept the darkness for what it was. It only made him feel so big inside of them,  thinking of how they could only love only him. 

Their eyes locked for a brief, intense moment, a silent exchange of raw desire and primal need passing between them before they both closed their eyes, succumbing to the overwhelming ecstasy of their union. As they moved together in a frenzied rhythm, their bodies entwined in a savage dance of passion and carnal desire, Sukuna couldn't shake the feeling that this was where he truly belonged – in the arms of someone who shared his darkest desires, someone who embraced the darkness within him without hesitation.

With each thrust, each gasp of pleasure, He and his lover were so easily becoming one, their souls intertwining in a twisted symphony of lust and madness. The room reverberated with the sound of their bodies colliding in a primal dance of desire, the intensity building with each passing moment. Blood from her scratches marking the drying blood against his tattoos. 

Sukuna's movements became more primal, more aggressive, as he surrendered to the primal urges coursing through his veins. His thrusts grew harsher, more relentless, fueled by the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain that enveloped them both. His lover's cries filled the air, a symphony of ecstasy and agony as they surrendered to the savage pleasure of their union. They egged him on, urging him to go faster, to go harder, to make them his prey in this twisted game of lust and desire.

There was no room for remorse or guilt between them – only the intoxicating rush of ecstasy as they surrendered to their darkest impulses, lost in the savage embrace of their love. In this moment, they were untamed beasts, consumed by the fire of their passion, oblivious to the world outside their twisted sanctuary. Nothing was ever so sacred to the two of them than being animals together, in each other’s arms. 

As they reached the peak of their ecstasy, their bodies entwined in a frenzy of desire, Sukuna couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment unlike anything he had ever experienced. They shook so violently in his arms, electric and high from the pleasure. When he came inside of them, he was so certain that he had blacked out for a moment. When he returned, he felt air punch out of his lips. He groaned and groaned, thrusting one after another, forcing more and more of himself each and every time—no matter how weary. 

Sukuna pressed kisses against their glistening skin, whispering sweet nothings, horrible sins to be born inside of their horrifying mind. He knew how corrupt they were. But it egged him to desire to know that he bore new festering sickness in a head already defiled by cruelty. They quivered against each word, reciprocating in kind. He envelopes his weight upon their own, certain that he would crush them. They wrapped their arms around him, taking in the scent of sex, carnage, blood and death. And somehow, they would fall asleep, happily at the life of an animal with him. He smiled down at them, watching them rest in the semblance of his chest.

In the arms of his beloved, he had found his truest self.

He knew he was a creature of darkness and desire.

That he was a hungry predator bound to hunt his prey. 

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was certain that neither would they. 

[bardic-inspo]

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES *  assorted dialogue from the novel, adjust as necessary

don't feel bad for one moment about doing what brings you joy.

be glad of your human heart.

has anyone ever taken care of you?

i heard you scream.

i figured that would get you to stop crying.

stop? don't pretend you care, human.

what is that bruise?

before you start yelling...

do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?

i'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person i can talk to without putting myself at risk.

you can leave if you're just going to insult me.

i would have been gentle with you, though.

pity those who don't feel anything at all.

when i kill, i do it slow.

killing is easier in pants.

i didn't want to consider what the punishment might have been.

we're too powerful, too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else.

i wanted you everywhere. i was drowning in that need.

i don't particularly enjoy losing, so i took it upon myself to become good at them.

what's it doing?

why are you telling me this?

i don't think it's absurd at all.

remember the last time you ignored my warning?

fear no evil.

would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here?

i might die of surprise. you made a joke, [name].

your hair is... clean.

when the legends get written, i don't want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines.

look how you're trying not to cry out in terror.

i didn't want you to fight alone. or die alone.

you don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend.

each of us has a beast roaming beneath our skin, roaring to get out.

against slavery, against tyranny, i would gladly go to my death, no matter whose freedom i was defending.

i love you. thorns and all.

for someone with a heart of stone, yours is certainly soft these days.

we need hope, or else we cannot endure.

i threw myself into that fire, threw myself into it, into him, and let myself burn.

you look... better than before.

it's a rare day indeed when someone thanks you for bringing them to their death.

if i offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss too?

you humans are truly grateful creatures, aren't you.

well... goodbye for now.

you didn't ask.

the answer to the riddle is love.

you don't look half as bad now.

everything i love has always had a tendency to be taken from me.

i wouldn't want to die alone.

you didn't need to bargain with me.

how am i to blame?

the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress.

what have you done to me?

do you ever stop being so serious and dull?

make it go away.

i'd prefer not to wear that dress.

do you ever stop being such a prick?

i would have taken a very, very long time.

i'd want someone to hold my hand until the end, and awhile after that.

you didn't tell me this would happen.

your human joy fascinates me - the way you experience things in your life span, so wildly and deeply and all at once is... entrancing.

i'm drawn to it, even though i shouldn't be, even when i try not to be.

there was nothing that could slow me down.

i don't know why i feel so tremendously ashamed of myself for leaving them.

all those years... what i did for them... and they didn't try to stop you from taking me.

you might have gotten away with it.

i came to claim the one i love.

i hadn't thought of it as a weakness until now.

[maverick-werewolf]

Werewolf Fact #75 - Cynocephali (dog-headed men)

This month's folklore fact is a long-awaited one from over on the Patreon: the cynocephali or "dog-headed men."

Some depictions of cynocephali (the one above is from the Nuremberg Chronicle, 1493) are mistaken for werewolves fairly frequently; there are several differences of note, including but not limited to the fact that they are otherwise very, very human (normal hands and feet, no tail, etc) and that their ears are not always shaped like a wolf's/pointing directly upright. They often are, however, so don't take the ear shape as a surefire thing, either. When in doubt, make sure the depiction is actually meant to be showing a werewolf before using it for, I don't know, a royalty-free image in your werewolf publication (I've seen several). The cynocephali do not shapeshift, nor are they associated with wolves. They have nothing to do with werewolves. Yes, it was just a plot to make you click this link and read about cynocephali.

Cynocephali, or singular cynocephalus, is a term derived from the original Greek word "kynokephaloi," meaning "dog-headed." They have other names as well, which mean a range of things such as "dog-faced" and "half-dog." They were mentioned in assorted accounts and tales of travelers in Africa and India, appearing in sources as old as ancient Greece, and some similar beings can be found in other cultures, such as China. Likewise, depictions of and discussions of such beings continue into the Middle Ages. This same term was later used to refer to baboons, to which no-fun modern day scholars now attribute all cynocephali legends (although we do have at least one Ottoman depiction of a cynocephalus battling a monkey).

There are many quotes across various sources and time periods about these beings, including but not limited to this one from the fifth century BC Greek historian Herodotus, Histories 4. 191. 3 (trans. Godley) [source: Theoi]

"For the eastern region of Libya, which the Nomads inhabit, is low-lying and sandy as far as the Triton river; but the land west of this, where the farmers live, is exceedingly mountainous and wooded and full of wild beasts. In that country are the huge snakes and the lions, and the elephants and bears and asps, the horned asses, the Kunokephaloi (Cynocephali) (Dog-Headed) and the Headless Men that have their eyes in their chests, as the Libyans say, and the wild men and women, besides many other creatures not fabulous."

Some stories of the cynocephali are also frightfully specific as to how they live, rear livestock, grow fruit, weave baskets, wage war, and much more, even including details of their society, clothing, how long they live, etc. It's all quite interesting. If you'd like to read more specific quotations, you can find many on one of my favorite websites, Theoi.

Sources seem to dispute one another as to whether they bark, do not bark but only howl, only shriek, or whatever other sounds they may make, and there is also a range of descriptions including elements such as if they have beards and whether hair covers their bodies as well as the dog-head. Overall, probably the majority of sources say they wear the skins of animals as opposed to having fur, but there are those that also call them hairy all over.

Please note that I will not be covering/discussing any gods from ancient Egypt in this post, because despite what some modern day scholars like to discuss, I don't consider them "cynocephali." They were wolf-headed deities, not dog-headed (or even jackal-headed), and are overall only related to cynocephali legends by proxy and by modern scholars always putting everything into blasted categories for their next thesis. There were some dog-headed deities in ancient Egypt, and Anubis, Wepwawet, Duamutef, etc, were not among them, and even then, we can't really assert that the dog-headed deities among the ancient Egyptians are actually related to other legends and records of cynocephali.

With that out of the way, let's continue...

One of my personal favorite stories involving a dog-headed man is a version of the tale of Saint Christopher, though these depictions and this tale are not seen as canon by churches and has been proscribed in Eastern Orthodoxy (where such depictions were generally most common). Some of these depictions still survive, however. Some sources believe that Byzantine depictions of a dog-headed Christopher come from mistaking "Cananeus" (meaning "Canaanite") for "caninus," i.e. canine.

In the story about a dog-headed Saint Christopher, there lives Reprebrus (among other variations of his name; ultimately, they all essentially mean "reprobate"), who is captured by Romans in battle and made to serve among them. Reprebrus was said to be of "enormous size," with the head of a dog, said to be typical of his kind. He was later baptized and martyred. However, in another version (this one from Germany), Saint Christopher is depicted as a giant cynocephalus who ate human flesh and performed many atrocities. He meets the Christ child later and carries him across a river, as in tradition (the name Christopher means "bearer of Christ") and repents for his sinful behavior. He is baptized and becomes human, dedicating himself to serving Christianity and became a soldier saint.

There are far more fascinating details in the story than I relayed here in extreme simplicity, but that's a very simple view (the story is actually very specific about different regions and even the unit in which he served).

Other depictions of cynocephali exist in certain Christian traditions, with Ahrakas and Augani sometimes being depicted with dog heads in Coptic Christian tradition, in the life and legend of Saint Mercurius.

Bestiaries also got pretty wild with the creatures depicted therein, many of which were also mentioned in classical sources (such as the Herodotus quote earlier in this post). The image above is from between 1357 and 1371, in a work called The Voyage and Travels of Sir John Mandeville, or simply Mandeville's Travels, the memoirs of a man who traveled across the Middle East, India, and even as far as China. Medieval bestiaries also recorded all the same creatures shown here: a monopod or sciapod, a cyclops, a blemmy, and a cynocephalus, each different civilizations of beings said to dwell across the world (and often cited in multiple sources over considerable spans of time, which generally cite the same or similar regions for each civilization, which I've always found very interesting).

Mentions of the cynocephali span across centuries, such as in works by scribe Paul the Deacon, a Benedictine monk, and they are even mentioned in the Nowell Codex, a surviving Old English work containing Beowulf (as well as a work of the life of Saint Christopher and Wonders of the East, among others). They are also acknowledged in the works of multiple noteworthy explorers, including but not limited to Marco Polo, Christopher Columbus, Giovanni da Pian del Carpine, Ibn Battuta, and Piri Reis.

With that, I think that's a decent overview! Hope you enjoyed the post.

And stay tuned for news and updates on a major [werewolf/fantasy/adventure/horror/epic] book release later this year!

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[harzilla]

I keep thinking of dungeon monster AU, except the MC is an orphaned child with Grim as their "familiar" and the Twst cast are all some flavor of monster. The MC joins a group of people exploring the dungeons in hopes of earning enough money to put food in their and Grim's belly. They end up getting separated/lost/abandoned and whichever floor/level of the dungeon they are on, is which group of monsters they meet. 1st floor Heartslabyul, 2nd floor Savannaclaw, etc....

Tiny human child MC ends up on friendly terms with whichever group they meet until they end up bonding into a found family situation.

Some ideas floating around in my head.

Riddle is a plant based monster. Something like the Flora beasts from Disgaea. The entire dungeon floor is a rose labyrinth that are all connected by the same root system with Riddle being the source. Riddle root network allows him to keep eyes on all parts of his dungeon floor. You may also notice an odd assortment of creatures here, perhaps you could explore here, if you follow the rules that is.

Leona would be something like a manticore or a sphinx. He's massive and powerful, but he also likes a challenge. Whether it be hunting or through strategy. Perhaps he'll let you live if you can prove your wits? His floor is home to many beast type monsters with a hierarchy. Those who refuse to respect the pecking order will end up banished or killed. Survival of the fittest.

Azul would be on a much more massive scale(on kraken scale). A fully grown adult could easily be crushed in his palm or tentacles. His floor is a labyrinth of underwater tunnels, which means the majority of monsters on the floor are either fully or partially aquatic. It's incredibly hard to fully map out this floor. Only the bravest(or stupidest) explorers dare to make deals with him, often falling fate to his terms or the ravenous jaws of his subordinates. Hope you have something good to offer.

Kalim would be some kind of Naga. His species is the kind who live in a type of colony(have you ever seen a nest of garter snakes? kind of like that). Family units often living in multiple generation communities. While Kalim is warm and kind, Jamil however will not hesitate to dispose of a threat to the colony.

Vil is a type of Siren(the flying kind) his alluring face and abilities are a deadly combination that can leave even the strongest to ruin. Even one of his feathers could net you a profit. Not that anybody has ever managed to succeed in taking one, especially with the keen eye of Rook watching. Nobody knows when he first partnered with the harpy, and has yet to find out which of the two is the more dangerous.

Idia would be a drider(I saw this one from another Tumblr and I love it.) his floor is covered in a network of web traps. Idia isn't fond of dealing with others, especially explorers(too much energy). He uses his traps to loot the explorers of their gear. His species is often solitary, but it's not unusual for a drider to adopt a smaller creature as a type of companion(or to guard their nests) Idia used his abilities and the enchanted armor and weapons he's looted to build an army of Ortho golems. You may find a palm sized Ortho cleaning up somewhere in the dungeon while the primary Ortho keeps Idia company.

And of course Malleus would be a full on dragon. Nobody's actually made it that far down the dungeon, or if they did they never came back alive. It's been so long that people believe the dragon is a myth. The last time somebody actually made it out alive, they were left broken and babbling about "thousands of beady little red eyes" this floor is home to nocturnal creatures. Perhaps the next person who steps foot can confirm if the dragon still exists?

[kitchenisking]

Day 4

Seires Fic Rec part 14

Queer Your Coffee by alisvolatpropiis - (Queer Your Coffee) - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 3,084, sterek)

Derek's just over the city line when he sees a sign for an independent drive-thru place, Full Spectrum Brew. There are three cars in line when he turns in, which annoys him but gives him hope. Not that he really trusts the people of Beacon Hills to have much taste when it comes to coffee (god, he is a snob), but the shop’s popularity does seem to bode well. The line of cars moves way more slowly than he’d like, each customer in front of him seeming to take way too long to order, and then lingering when they get their coffee. He’s irritable from lack of sleep and an even more detrimental lack of caffeine, anxious to get out of the car. Finally it’s his turn and he slowly rolls up to the window, turning the radio down.

For a second, he thinks he must have fallen asleep while he was waiting, because what he sees when he looks in the window surely must be a dream.

Stunning brown eyes like glowing honey and sweet little nose, slightly upturned; a shapely pink mouth, bottom-lip pierced by a thin black hoop that he's worrying with the tip of his tongue as he smiles a gorgeous hello.

He's the most beautiful man Derek's ever seen.

And he’s shirtless.

It's a Beautiful Night by khasael - (Hale and Hearty) - (Rating: T, Words: 2,887, sterek)

Just because they're all almost used to fighting against the Creature of the Week and assorted other Bad Guys, doesn't mean it doesn't get Stiles's heart rate going.

Dream a Little Dream by Yoiko - (A Little Dream of Me ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,101, sterek)

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. And since this is my dream you’re going to let me do it.”

All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man. by devilscut - (There are nights when the wolves are silent and the moon howls.) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 11,687, sterek)

A shell-shocked Stiles regroups with the pack to find his father who has been kidnapped by the Darach. Their search leads them to the Nematon, where their confrontation with the Darach reveals her plans and that there is more to being a True Alpha than they know. Derek and his family's legacy is at the heart of her schemes and when the Darach has him under her control Stiles begins to realise the extent of how much he really cares for the sourwolf. In true Scooby-doo fashion, the villain has told them of her plans but more shockingly to Stiles she also reveals a very important aspect of his and Derek's relationship.

The virtue of patience by nofeartina - (Patience) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11,827, sterek)

Stiles isn't afraid of admitting his feelings to Derek, but that doesn't mean that Derek wants to hear it. 

Or the one where Stiles knows that all good things come to those who wait.

I Feel Like You Can't Feel the Way I Feel by i_might_be_in_over_my_head - ( Einherjar MC ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 14,087, sterek)

“Fuckin A, dude! The last time you gave me that look I ended up in the woods in the middle of the night, lost my inhaler, and almost died. Please tell me why you’re always trying to get me killed?” Scott shook his head resigned. He knew Stiles was going in and nothing he could say would change that. “If we wake up dead tomorrow just remember this was your idea.”

Stiles threw his fist in the air enthusiastically, almost punching Scott in the face, and turned to the door. He knew if he didn’t go quick Scott would probably change his mind and he’d have to start all over. “Dude that was sophomore year of high school, let it go! Plus dead body! We had to go. We’ll just have a drink and check it out. It’ll be fun!”

fingertips have memories by thatworldinverted - (let's talk about sex ) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,800, sterek)

Pochemuchka (Russian), noun: a person who asks a lot of questions. 

"I saw the way you watched me, when I was home last month. How long have you been dreaming about getting me on my knees?"

seems to me it's chemistry by HalfFizzbin - (covalent bonds) - (Rating: T, Words: 4,153, sterek)

Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.

These next two fics go hand in hand. 😇

The One with All the Kids by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: G, Words: 6,527, sterek)

Derek didn't know what he did to deserve to have this again. A house full of people, of family. He's going to be forever grateful to that rouge witch for what she did for him and Stiles, because after all the hurt they went through together, many years later, they're standing in the Pack house, in their house, surrounded by their family.

A New Hale by Itsreallyjustforresearch83 - (Rating: G, Words: 4,543, sterek)

The Pack meets the werewolf cub that Stiles and Derek gets placed with them on Christmas.

[iiryebreadii]

the baby fish are getting used to me :’) they aren’t afraid to come up and swim close to me when i sit by the edge of the pond, now :’) :’) :’)

[probablyfunrpgideas]

Monster of the Week Idea: There's a new social media trend where people pretend to summon their favorite character (using a candle, a bell, and a drawing of the character). It's usually a silly video - "hey, Shadow the Hedgehog, get out of my garage!" or an excuse to show off your drawing skills - "I accidentally summoned Elphaba in this elaborate and detailed medieval armor!"

However, there's something sinister going on. Some youths are disappearing after they film their videos, other people are reporting burglaries or property damage caused by a strangely dressed... gang? A sorcerer created this trend, passed on a real ritual to influencers, and is waiting to reap the rewards. If you perform the ritual with a normal candle and bell, it doesn't work, but if you use the components she's selling to selected individuals, it creates a kind of tulpa or dream creature and brings it to life! The sorcerer needs people with a strong concept of characters, because they're planning to control powerful dreams and use them as an army...

Can the PCs deal with the assortment of fictional beasts and blorbos that are running around town? Will they be brave enough to attempt the ritual for themselves?

[enrageddivinebeast]

two things i like alot.

assorted creatures. info on my tarnished (the redhead) below 👇🏽

thera ive written n rewritten like five bajillion quintillion times but the only thing thats confirmed since dlc is that 1: she too is reborn w horns but not thru sacred rite, its of her own doing, somehow. still haven't fully decided anything w how that works. whatever. she has horns n paws n a tail that is perpetually in a spiral now. 2: she went to the realm of shadow and somehow mohg is still alive for it and she lives there now. WHATEVER MAN!

she is a crucible devout n doesnt give a shit about that damn golden order beyond its history of how it offshot from crucible culture(s). she is a purveyor of myth and absolutely batshit insane takes based in her skills as a homegrown oracle that got her shunned from her fellow tarnished n marked as a heretic and a kind of witch by the GO. her death pre-landsbetween is a direct result of her exile from her community -- its uncertain whether she ended her own life out of despair or if someone murdered her to spare everyone the "shame" of her existence.

in the present, she hangs out w the omen twins because she thinks they are a lovely synthesis of everything the crucible has to offer. the Other found in the selfsame. the dialectic. horn deck'd beasts. choleric lion sanguine bird. they both entertain her theorizing in different ways. her & morgott debate all the time n cite shit like the world's most annoying humanities students n then kiss after. mohg is a good listener -- even if he doesnt really go with what she believes he goads her into continuing to talk. they all get along sometimes occasionally. basically the reason she exists is so i can yap ab the crucible in a in-universe way, from the perspective of someone whos been Through It. my triad theory paper is written by thera.

gameplay wise shes a dex/faith build. she uses euporia & aspect of the crucible incantations, as well as spiral incantations. :-) ok

[robinette-green]

Robin's Mer DCA Romance Fics

These are fics I’ve started that involve Mermaids and aquatic life!

Unbreakable Chains:

You’re a mermaid captured by pirates. Scared and injured, two strange metal men care for you while you’re trapped in this scary place and slowly an unbreakable bond is formed between the three of you. ________________ Wind and rain pelted down on the ship as the men scrambled to lift their catch from the water. The waves rolled, tossing the ship back and forth, slamming water down onto the decks as ropes were pulled and the net was lifted from the water. A screech rang out over the waves as something much larger than your average fish was raised from the black depths. Lighting forked across the sky, illuminating sharp teeth and claws as the beast fought to free itself. The shout of pain, as claws met flesh, was drowned out by the rumble of thunder, but the sharp crack from the pistol rang clear across the water, followed by a scream. Another shot and cry of pain, and the men were finally able to lower the beast into the belly of the ship. 

Caught in a Fish's Net: (tag)

what if I wrote a story where a human is kidnapped by mermaids. And they were forced to marry two mer princes because of a prophecy that said if the princes married a human they would be able to end the plague killing their people. But the marriage seems to do nothing and now the human is trapped deep in the ocean with these mer because mer bond for life and now magic ties them together so if they’re apart for too long they’ll grow sick and die. OH! And there’s a sea witch who creates chaos. The sky had been cloudless when we'd set out this morning. The sun shone in the sky, causing sparkles to ripple across the waves as my father and I set out to sea in our small fishing boat. We cast out the nets and had a good laugh as we waited to pull them back in, Father at the rudder and me by the tethers we'd connected the nets to. Neither of us noticed how still the water had gotten. Neither of us saw the shadows below the surface. 

Bubbly:

A little waterlily mer guppy is trapped, home destroyed, and taken to a pet store to be sold. After spending some time living in a fish bowl, our little guppy is saved and moved to a tank that has been dubbed the daycare by the human tending to it. The daycare tank is set up to rehabilitate fish before they are released back into their natural habitats. There our guppy meets Sun and Moon, two fish that live full time in this tank taking care their healing guests. Sun and Moon and our guppy fall in love and then shit goes down.

Fish Fry: (tag)

Pulled from the sea 5 years ago, I was tied up, beaten, and sold to owner after owner, each deciding I was too dangerous to keep. Back then, I was strong, able to break bones and tear flesh with ease, singing to lure humans to their demise. It's what my kind was made to do, kill humans. But no more. Kept in increasingly small tanks, barely fed, and unable to swim, I started to weaken. Eventually, I was dumped here. It was some kind of oddities collection. My owner had other humans pay to look at his strange assortment of items he had gathered from around the world. Then one day I encountered two strange humanoid creatures that resembled the Sun and the Moon and my life started to change for the better.

Monster in the Sea:

Sun and Moon are human and go by Solaris and Lucien. The MC is a water dragon. Water dragon reader finds Sun and Moon lost at sea during a storm

Dark Waters:

When your parents died all their debt fell on your shoulders. You did everything you could but in the end, you were penniless and without a home. Reaching out to what relatives you had left, your uncle offered you a place, living and working at his little circus in the middle of the desert. It wasn't long after you moved into this little community that you found a strange abandoned tent hidden at the back of the grounds, a large tank inside. Posted just outside was a sign that read 'DANGER! KEEP OUT!' If you had headed the warning maybe you wouldn't be in this predicament but you also wouldn't have met the two most amazing creatures you have ever laid your eyes on.

Fishy Business: (tag)

Attacked and almost killed, I manage to escape my attackers and hide in a cave only to be found by something... not quite human. Too weak to get away and with the beasts that wanted to eat me waiting outside, this non-human kidnaps me, taking me to his ship. This is where I find that there are not one but two of these metal creatures. A story where the main character is a mermaid and is rescued/kidnapped by Sun and Moon

Some of these won't be finished and some are OLD writing of mine. you have been warned. Please don't let that stop you from reading these and enjoying them <3

[archive-professional-jaywalker]

and now for a less serious post : Flight Rising Creatures I have opinions about.

The Basilisks / Cockatrices / Battlelisks

fork found in kitchen. bird with strong draconic feelings, a cockatrice fursona, and a gender best described as "rooster but make it lesbian" likes the reptile-bird-beasts. the battlelisks are something i could have made as a sona. Im kinda pissed they removed the battle spurs even if it was for pg13 reasons ngl it fucked hard. But yeah the basilisks and assorted creatures are both very gender and species in flight rising.

Gryphons

boy oh boy we got so many of these fuckers with elemental fests. I love em. they're so bizarre. I'm not a gryph but i believe in their beliefs. My fave are the plague gryph (obviously), the masked gryph (cunty as hell), the shadow gryph (just look at it), but honestly they're all super fun to look at. No real "that's me" feel but a true Bird Creacher recognizes another and these are My Folk.

Gryphs?

Canonically these are not gryphons, but some sort of convergent evolution. Love em anyways. No idea what their back end is meant to be. Love the crest, love the energy. Love the chaos of flight rising having 7 different types of gryphons that arent gryphons, since there's also - check notes - gryphlets (possibly neotenous gryphons? i think), the "crystal collector" who might be a gryph, hippogryphs who appear to canonically be cousins (are gryphons only predatory mammalian back end in the fr universe? is it the hooves?) and a bunch of other quadruped vaguely chimeric bird beasts.

Fucked Up Corvids

No notes. Fantastic. Give me 5 thousand of those.

Raptoriks and other bird furries

im normal about them. don't look at my art folders. banger design every single one of them aside from the pirate parrots the parrots scare me. if they make some that look like roadrunners some day i may just die. i've actually commissioned art of a plague roadrunner raptorik for myself lol

Streaks

They're so fucking weird and plaguey!!! second most Species after the basilisks but they may take over if i'm feeling particularly edgy. also something I feel like would be my sona if i made one based on fr bestiaries. Also very Bright-Gender look at those long ass feathers. Show off.

Eyewings

A diva. An icon. An inspiration to all birds out there to get more angel-coded and add a bunch of random eyes to their design.

Dunerunners

HEMLOCK IN FLIGHT RISING CONFIRMED. you THOUGHT i wouldn't mention the roadrunners huh. they even have accurate zygodactyl claws. I love them so so much. I even get a normal colored one AND a tacky "look at me im neon" one. You'd think i've personally commissioned the staff for it. Only reason you can tell i haven't is that otherwise the neon one would be pink.

tbh i could go on and on and on if you do not know flight rising, i highly recommend going on their bestiary page and looking shit up randomly. there's so many good beasts. that's not even all the birds i had to cut some out so this post wouldn't just be all of them and me going Holy Shit Bird. there's bugs. there's lizards. there's a variety of weirdoes. i love the familiars in that game.