bitedownme

[bitedownme]

It was raining.

A consistent, ever present sound. Lingering from the moment Ite laid down, to where she found herself now. Blinking at the wall in front of her, following the sound as it moved with her eyes, trying to figure out what time it was.

She was warm. Being tucked under the arm and against the chest of a dragon would do that. The air touching her face was cold. And wet smelling.

Which was a mighty fine reason to stay nice and warm and cozy right next to most of what was good in her life.

Slowly, carefully, she nudged away from his arms (earning a sleepy murmur of protest) before she rolled over. Pushing her face against his neck, under his jaw. Sliding his arm back around her while she wiggled closer to him, feeling his breathing hitch at the change before smoothing back out again.

Quiet. Rhythmic. In, and out. Each one a testament to the fact that Yharim was still alive. That despite everything haunting his mind, he could sleep without being troubled.

Ire wondered if her dreams would be that kind to her.

As quietly as she woke up, her eyes closed again, and she was right back to sleep.

-🍁

AIGH, MY SWEET DRAGONS :SOB:

[bitedownme]

Based on This One Thing (link)

[bitedownme]

Based on This One Thing (link)

[bitedownme]

I'm gonna divide this between two parts, that way the actual situation itself can be accurately tagged and blocked out just in case.

The scene:

The Prince of a Thousand Faces has yet again done something to call for punishment. Bound in chains to greatly limit his abilities, and dragged off while the Scarlet King tries to figure out a proper course of action as his own methods no longer seem to be as effective. The King, however, spots the Queen near the Armory, and comes up with a new course of action.

=====

The spear was even between the Shrike's hands.

"Thirty minutes," Scarlet mused, turning his gaze down to the trapped shape changer at his side. Even wrapped in chains taught from the death grip the King had upon them, Jeser still found a way to shrink away from the burden of the dual gaze. "The Prince has thirty minutes to run in any direction of his choosing. The instant thirty minutes are up, however…"

Ire finally looked up. Expression completely unreadable, but steady nonetheless. If she had an argument, or a concern, it wasn't one she was going to vocalize. Yet something within that expression almost seemed to strike Jeser as wrong. Yes, it was the King's Shrike that was staring at him.

But either she wasn't completely there, or somehow, too much of her was there. Too hungry in how she sized him up slowly.

"Our beloved shrike gets to hunt. Once she finds you-" once, not if "- she is free to do with you as she seems fit, for as long as she seems fit."

===

The initial plan (or, really, initial hope) was to negotiate. To find someone the Shrike kept close and plead or threaten his way into making them hide him.

The guards were an immediate no. Many of them were wise to what the continuous loop of chains wrapped almost too close to his body meant. Those that weren't were quickly corrected by the more senior of them, and all either ignored him outright or were polite yet firmly apathetic towards his words, and even more so towards his situation.

No response rang from the rooms of the Goldsmith. As to be expected, if Jeser was being completely honest with himself. The lathe was barren and cold as he stalked around it, and off to the other room. To the other one the Shrike kept in her company.

Jeser did not like Jharim. The role of a jester was to be a in-house source of mockery and cruelty; to act as the eyes and ears of their assigned nobles. With each tongue lashing, something was being found out. A crack in a facade. An insecurity to exploit. Or, as Jharim had displayed several times, figuring out who was lying about what, and how deep the lies went.

On the purely information gathering basis, Jeser had to applaud that kind of talent. As someone in the business of lying, Jeser also had to constantly resist the urge to wring the jester's neck.

An impulse that was, thankfully, subdued for once, purely because the Prince was too confused as to the scene that was apparently unfolding behind Jharim's closed doors. The few glances he could get gave the impression that the Shrike's parrot was preparing for some unknowable, end of world scenario that no one else could comprehend.

All the same, the Prince spoke quickly. As honestly as he could, given the situation and what was at stake. Though, for the first several words, it seemed that Jharim wasn't entirely present.

"… normally the King would handle it, but he's handed it off to the Queen, and I'd like to not see how she intends to make that happen."

Jharim blinked once. Then again. Then at length, he finally looked at Jeser's face, his own expression doing something complex before he flatly stated, "Your name is but one letter off from designating you as a clown, and whatever crucifixion that is soon coming will surely rectify that."

"My friend, I am begging you to reconsider here! Surely you know what it means to be hunted-"

"I am! And I was unaware the entire time. You have the boon of knowing about the winged hell that's about the reign down upon you, and you are making the active choice to look like this?! Get out of here before I need to clean you off the wall!"

With that, the door was shut, and just as quickly locked.

Jeser only had fifteen minutes to get out of the palace and into the badlands.

-🍁

The Creature is in Danger, and everyone knows it. Only two are gonna enjoy this maybe a bit too much

[bitedownme]

It's a collaborative effort that put him there lmao

-🍁

LMAOAOAOAOA EXACTLYYY

[bitedownme]

this creature is in trouble

[bitedownme]

Me to you

[bitedownme]

Thicker than human skin. Differently textured, too; halfway between the more pliant, more malleable texture of your own palm and something more like the rough, sandpaper hide of a shark. At more than a few points — most notably, his neck, which he growled at you for letting your hands linger near — it transitioned more into scutes. Into proper yet well hidden scales.

The expanse of muscle, too was different. Thicker. More compact with more stretch and give in any possible direction. You could barely feel or find any bone in his neck and shoulders. Or, really, any part of his upper body.

No amount of space was wasted. Connective tissues under the skin felt (and healed) like the muscle surrounding them.

Where the skin became thicker down his back lay spines. More scute like than the scales on his neck with how they overlapped and often rose and fell with how he naturally moved. Each curve, each twitch only cemented the quiet dawning realization that, yes, in fact, this was a very large predator that you were handling, and he was allowing himself to be handled.

The God of Carnage was being exceptionally, agonizingly patient with you in your quiet exploration.

Shifting his limbs and head in certain directions as your hands slowly worked their way back up. Not silent. Not with the quiet rumbling you could feel building in his chest or throat — an impatient snarl or a coaxing purr, it was anyone's guess really.

All the same, when your hands met the underside of his jaw again, the claws digging into your thighs squeezed a bit tighter. Wanting. Needing.

Yet morbidly curious as to whatever conclusion you were reaching on your own.

For now, he'd let you continue. For now, he'd be patient.

---

@whisper-overseer

[bitedownme]

[bitedownme]

I’d definitely feel safe with In-ho actually

[bitedownme]

Trigger warnings: Detailed gore, violence, THIS IS ALAGADDA SO YEAH, THAT IS ITS OWN TRIGGER WARNING.

SCP imagine/drabble of a woman being much too curious for her own good. Curiosity killed the cat~

Claire had been chasing the supernatural for years. She would dive head first into any objects or text she could find - cult forums, interesting PDFs, late-night scrolls in forgotten parts of the Internet. Ones that were meant to never be discovered. It was obsession that brought her to a strange ritual, one that no man dared to speak of.

The door shouldn’t have opened - it should not have been possible. But it did. The scent of incense and rotted wood seeped through the doorway.

Beyond it lay a city stretched for miles, a twisted sense of architecture expanding vastly in every direction she looked. It looked hauntingly beautiful, though the air felt stale. She was too curious, too ignorant - she stepped through the door. The looming buildings were strange, illogical - they made her squint a little to try to comprehend them. She blinked multiple times in vain, unadjusted to the sight, or lack thereof, of most colors. Black, white, yellow, and red seemed to be the only ones she could perceive.

Music played, though she could not see where the musicians were, not that it mattered. What she was more focused on was the odd clothing and mask that now clung to her body, all frills and matching the…citizens. She was never a dress girl and she found herself picking lightly at the itchy fabric.

People, if she could call them that, paraded the city in masks of many kinds. Beautiful in their own right, yet they left a sense of dread in her gut that grew the more she looked at them. If she had looked harder, let her gaze linger a bit more, she would have seen that none of them drew breath. But unfortunately, that was not what she was fixating on. Far from it, really.

Displays of vile and immoral acts were performed on sides of the street for overly joyous crowds. Claire only saw a glimpse of one of the acts to realize that the smell of metal in the air - the iron that permeated through the stench of rot - was blood. The revolting wet squelch of flesh being torn away from bone pierced the stagnant, hazy air. Ear-splitting screams and delighted cries of many differing sources and causes assaulted her hearing.

The performer of the act Claire unwillingly stumbled upon was elatedly stripping a man’s meat off the bone like one would butcher and prepare an animal. The gruesome scene made her stomach flip and her legs to grow weak. The visual of stringy muscle and tendons, clinging stubbornly to the white structure of calcium, caused her to tremble. Acid rose in the back of her throat and nausea struck her in waves.

Her watery eyes glued themselves to the street, unable to stand the sickening display any longer. The shift in her line of sight gave her a new kind of surprise. One of piles of naked, writhing, masked bodies that made her once again look a different direction. The grotesque sights of torture, the shameless way the citizens behaved….These sights made her stomach clench and her heart tighten painfully in her chest.

The way the atmosphere made her feel did not help the icy, overwhelming fear that was crawling up her spine. She didn’t know where her body began or ended - everything felt blurry and disorienting. Like a dream she couldn’t wake up from. These horrendous feelings and sights caused her to panic, and she tried to backtrack through the door, terrified.

But it was too late. Luck was not on her side, and her curiosity had sealed her fate.

Between the citizens, the Ambassador emerged, having just come back from a foreign kingdom and having spotted her much too quickly. It seemed to know too much about her, and its presence unnerved her immediately. That and…the aura it gave off was deadly and suffocating.

“How thoroughly you invited yourself to our kingdom.” it mused, voice smooth as silk and yet as sharp as a blade. Despite how saccharine sweet it sounded, it did not hide the mocking and hostile edge. There was offense in its tone - elegant, yet seething. As if it was appalled by her audacity to come uninvited to its domain. Claire felt its words deep in her bones, the sound reverberating the foundations of her very being.

Claire wanted to back away, but her limbs betrayed her. They were heavy like lead, unable to move past her muscles twitching. Her voice came out trembling and weak, pleading almost. “I-I didn’t mean-“

“Oh, but you did.” It leaned in, though it had no face to leer at her. “That much is very clear to me.”

Hands clasped her shoulders roughly from behind, locking her to the spot despite having been unable to move in the first place.

“You came seeking knowledge, have you not? A brave pursuit.” The Ambassador continued, thinly veiled sarcasm in the “compliment”. She could hear the sardonic smile in its voice regardless of its faceless visage. It was mocking her once again - it clearly thought of her as stupid, naive, and did not hide it. “So tell me, human… how much are you willing to give to understand?”

Claire tried to scream, but the sound seemed to fold in on itself. Muted. Or perhaps she just couldn’t hear it due to the music swelling in her ears at that moment, blending in seamlessly with her terror.

“Exquisite,” The Ambassador murmured, utterly pleased with itself. It had something fun to occupy its time now, and it was delighted. “The mind of a human is such a delicate thing - I believe I shall start there.”

The masked citizens watched in mild interest while continuing their activities, smiles blatant even through their covered faces.

[bitedownme]

Your bunny wants to fuck the dragonflame and I'm not about to deny her

-🍁

Why do I learn about anything like that from someone telling me that and not from her or first hand, why

[bitedownme]

camil is so fucking cool im almost a little jealous /j im like . "ofcourse,FUCK. thats genius!!.. why didnt I think of that ......" /ref

-paperclip anon

Wish I had more stuff with him to be honest because even conceptually his entire existence is very curious and I should play with it more. But all I have right now is just vague ideas on how he ended up Like This™ and none of them make much sense yet LMAO

[bitedownme]

Yay! My "sorcerer" being tortured!

Context: Being around an eldritch entity that wants to play with your consciousness is not nice, when you have high sensitivity of your "magic sensors" or whatever. BUT, it really wants to calibrate them to perfection WHICH ISN'T WORKING! My poor guy.

[bitedownme]

YAYAYAYAYAY ITS FINALLY DONE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ I drew @bitedownme’s Unhanged Hanged King design . I love him So So Much okay.

[bitedownme]

YAYAYAYAYAY ITS FINALLY DONE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ I drew @bitedownme’s Unhanged Hanged King design . I love him So So Much okay.

[bitedownme]

sk… i love you but we GOTTA set you on fire bro

-paperclip anon

He reeeally needs to be sedated at this point, help