#as long as its for you and not some fucking deity

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ SWEET TALK. featuring choso.

↻ choso lives for one thing ; to make sure his precious girlfriend is never unsatisfied.

tags : cunniligus, dirty talk, body worship, male masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, mentions of face sitting, feral choso // wc. 0.7k

author's note : i lowkey wanna thank @toadtoru for sending in an ask about this before i even posted it, because i used some of those ideas to improve on this :3 in true homage to my username choso is a complete slut in this lolsies ;) one more to go and this event is finished, thanks for sticking around for THIS long i love everyone here >o<

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

if there’s one thing CHOSO firmly believes in, it’s that you aren’t just his girlfriend, but some supreme deity from heaven above. it sounds completely ridiculous, but he believes it more than anything, especially in moments like this. 

you just look so beautiful above him on the couch, thighs parted slightly and fingers caressing the sensitive mound in between your legs, head tipped back and lips parted in a silent ‘o’ as your toes curl into the carpet. angelic, he thinks, and he can’t wait to receive permission to touch you.

“choso…” your voice is smooth like butter yet sweet like caramel, and choso can feel his cock begin to press up against his slacks. “c’mere.”

yes. that’s all he needs before he’s eagerly crawling in between your legs to lap at your cunt, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs as he pulls them apart in earnest. “shit… missed me, did she?” his rambles are fueled by pure lust and delusion, and as he eats you out, choso begins to talk into your cunt. “missed her too… poor baby can’t go too long without her sweet boyfriend, huh…”

fingers tangle in his dark locks as you pull him closer, effectively muffling his ramblings by grinding your lower half on his tongue. the way he eats you out is feverish, his wet muscle alternating between your inflamed clit and pulsing hole interchangeably. and choso can’t help himself from getting fired up by your lewd display too, his own hips grinding down onto  the couch as he finds solace in between your legs. 

you, on the other hand, are positively reeling, legs twitching uncontrollably as choso continues to make a mess of your poor cunt. you wish you could return to him the same pleasure tenfold, but all you can do is sit and take it, helpless to his ministrations. “cho, cho, ‘s too much, baby, s-slow down…” 

begging is futile. choso is hypnotised, his own eyes rolling into the back of his head in an immediate reflection of your own reaction. “sorry baby, can’t, you taste s’good, don’t wanna…”

neither of you are in your right mind, but choso especially. when you cry out from orgasm for the first time, he barely takes note, his tongue on your clit never letting up as he brings two fingers to the entrance of your weeping cunt. the other hand previously on your thigh is now shoved into his boxers, and he’s fisting himself just as quickly as his fingers begin to plow your pussy. 

he’s killing you, but you love it. his brown eyes peek up in between your legs, and you just catch his expression, pupils dilated with lust as he watches you twitch above him. he mumbles something onto your clit before he’s licking and kissing it again, and you begin to think you might actually die. 

“c’mon, baby,” he groans, hips thrusting forward into his palm as he continues to eat. “c’mon baby, gimme another one– fuck, please, please…”

“choso, i can’t…” you truly believe that, given the way he’s already on his way to giving you another orgasm in the short span of five minutes. but he needs it so bad, needs you to cum for him so bad that he speeds up, thumb now joining his tongue to stimulate your clit in unison. “choso!”

“that’s it, baby, that’s it, oh, she’s close, isn’t she?” you can barely believe that he’s treating your pussy like its own person, but fuck is it turning you on. you hiccup pitiful whimpers as your thighs begin to tremble again, knees closing inwards and trapping choso’s head in between your legs.

if he were to die in this position, he wouldn’t mind. your release sprays his lips in repeated spurts, juices dribbling down his chin and some even dripping onto the flared head of his cock. it’s that which tips choso over the edge, and he’s spurting ropes onto the carpet, his own eyes finding the back of his head rapidly as his nose jerks against your clit.

“baby…” he stares down at the mess he’s made on the floor and then back at you, who’s laying spread eagle on the couch, chest rapidly rising and falling. “you gotta sit on my face next time.”

PREVIOUS : SURVIVAL ft. sniper mask NEXT : INKED ft. suguru geto

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© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[truly-sincerely]

Dark Star Falling (8 of 9)

The room has marble walls with bronze embellishments lined with disorganized scroll racks. It is an unusual shape, not quite a trapezoid. Enver Gortash has never seen architecture quite like this. His best guess is Dwarvish.

“--I’m running along the outer ledge, trying to line up a shot on the Emperor when suddenly I am just horny as all get out.” He can hear Darling’s voice from the hallway outside, but all he can see in that direction is a sickly teal light.

A triangular table-like outcropping extends from the shortest wall and on it sits an embroidered cushion, and on top of that, a skull with all of the teeth removed except the very long, very pointed canines.

“Right that minute, in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, Haarlep is going at it in my body.”

Gortash looks down at himself and sees unfamiliar clothing but otherwise he seems to be fully intact. Of course the netherstone is gone.

“I’m sorry, darling,” that lilting, upper city voice replies.

“No, this is a funny story. I know you’ve got autonomy issues but it’s not as bad as that. I can still do things, it’s just kind of distracting. I get inappropriately horny in lots of situations unrelated to incubi.”

“I suppose that’s true. You are a freak,” he laughs.

Gortash sits up and immediately regrets it, but keeps going, swinging his legs over the side of the stone bed and overturning a metal tray with goblets and such.

“Anyway, that was when Gale hit him with a fireball and he went up like woomf, so–” Darling stops mid-sentence at the clatter.

“Have a nice chat, love.”

“Right. Yeah. You sure you don’t want to stick around?” Gortash doesn’t hear a response but Darling appears in the doorway alone. They don’t say anything as they walk to the table, pick up the skull, sit down on the pillow, and let the skull sit in their lap. Gortash feels lightheaded and nauseated, still trying to get his bearings.

“Where am I?” he croaks.

“The Tourmaline Depths, underneath the Szarr Palace,” Darling says, looking at him with an amount of concern that makes him deeply uncomfortable. They pick up a goblet from somewhere he can’t see, wiping it out with the hem of their shirt. “It’s been… about a day and a half.”

That’s right, he’d been in his office at Wyrm’s Rock Fortress. Darling had walked in the door with Minthara, a wizard with a Waterdhavian accent, and the high elf that had attended the coronation with them. The elf didn’t say anything during the meeting, but Gortash was confident that he was the owner of the upper city accent.

– – –

“It’s time I take matters into my own hands. We could have–”

Darling cuts in, “I’m gonna stop you right there. You need to hear this. I believe it’s too late to regain control of the brain.”

“Why in Bane’s name would I listen to anything you have to say? You destroyed my Steel Watch,” he’s trying to hide how much this hurts him personally, but the facade is cracking.

“They were controlled by tadpoles. When the brain breaks free it would’ve taken them with it. I couldn’t let that happen,” Darling pleads. They try not to sound like they’re pleading, but they aren’t sure if it’s working. Gortash starts to interrupt and Darling barrels over him, “I’m acting on your hypothesis, Enver. You voiced a concern to Ketheric that the energy of the Crown would cause the elder brain to metamorphose into something more difficult to control.”

“You couldn’t possibly know about that,” he says with uncertainty.

“Good ol’ Ketheric hid his private thoughts in the floorboards next to his thrice damned bed. When he wasn’t leaving them lying around for anyone to read, that is. He concluded that the solution was to consolidate the netherstones in a single wielder. You came to the same conclusion, tho your offer to share the stones with me was...” they trail off with a shrug.

“That’s precisely why I put the brain under the upper city.”

“Yes, I read your journal too. Something, something perfectly formed to concentrate the psionic force of the netherstones? And if we lose control it’ll be perfectly formed to concentrate the psionic force of a metamorphosed brain against us,” they pause, and glance back at their wizard. “I spoke to the brain at Moonrise. It knew my name. It called me kingmaker-returns-pawn (which would be a really good title for a ballad about me).”

“You’re not a pawn,” Gortash says, briefly forgetting that he’s furious with Darling.

“That’s not the point. It also said I made it–that I gave it everything. It’s blowing smoke up my skirt. I don’t like it. You should be deeply concerned that it has the will to screw with me. I didn’t ‘crawl back from my bloody disgrace’ by frolicking into traps (I’m usually the one who sets them) and I’m telling you that it’s hiding something.”

An awkward silence follows. Darling reaches towards him, but pauses and puts their hand back down at their side. His eyes dart around as he works the problem in his head. The wizard whispers something about trustworthiness in Darling’s ear.

“Faithful, to me,” Gortash commits to the decision, and the faithful all start advancing on Darling’s troupe. “I think I will hang your corpse in the Wide–the Archduke’s would-be assassin. The people will celebrate your fall, and my part in it. Your bones will be a souvenir of–”

– – –

And then nothing.

“That’s when Astarion shot you full of drow poison, Gale put you in a resilient sphere, we killed all of your guards, fed you a bunch of potions of sleep, Minthara (reluctantly) carried you, and we all jumped off the tower to a skiff we had waiting for us on the beach by Wyll’s old fishing spot,” Darling says, petting the skull in their lap as tho it’s a cat.

“So the brain has been destroyed,” he posits. “Or else you’re hiding in this moldering ruin from an army of mindflayers.”

“The first one, tho not before it turned all the tadpoles, so there are likely still hundreds of mindflayers wandering around the sword coast, but that’s not why we’re down here.”

“And you were right about its treachery?”

“About it being up to something? It gave me a whole monologue about sending you dreams so you’d put the astral prism into play which would give it the opportunity to rebel and there’s nothing I could do to stop it, et cetera, et cetera.”

Gortash puts his head in his hands. He was so sure he had covered all the angles but Darling being correct meant he’d failed months ago and had been digging a deeper and deeper hole for himself ever since. He can feel Bane’s disapproval like a fist clutching his heart and knows that if he died now he would be tortured for eternity for his failure. His cult is surely scattered, his holdings seized or destroyed, and his reputation obliterated. Darling could have killed him in Wyrm’s Rock. Should have killed him. He deserved death for such a complete and utter failure. What use is he to his god like this? Did he already know he had lost when he sic’d his guards on Darling?

Finally, looking up at Darling, he asks, “So what is this? What do you expect to happen here?”

Darling’s mouth shifts to the side and they say, “I was thinking we’d have a conversation that’ll become a fight that’ll become a fuck that’ll become an ultimatum.”

“I accept your premise but tell me the ultimatum now and I’ll answer it at the end,” he counter-offers with all the gravity of discussing lunch plans. 

“You have to renounce Bane,” Darling pauses, thinking. An ultimatum needs to come with consequences. Gortash waits for the rest, trying not to have an emotion about the beginning. “We can be whatever you want, but not in the name of a god, any god. If you insist on remaining with His cult then I’m going to turn you over to the Flaming Fist or the Watch–whatever’s left upstairs.”

“Whatever I want?”

Darling hesitates, realizing they’ve maybe left that clause a little too open-ended for someone who's spent as much time as Gortash has among devils. “I could add ‘within reason’, but what I’m hoping for is that, if you want to be with me, you’ll want something that’s compatible with what I want.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it again, frowns, and looks away thoughtfully. “I assume the tadpole is gone already and you have your elf… I don’t know what you want beyond that. I suppose that’s what the conversation is meant to be about.”

Darling is taken aback that he remembered what they had said on their first (no, second) visit almost a tenday ago. He always gives the impression that he’s only barely listening for what he wants to hear. But still, he’s so subdued. He had tried to kill them. Maybe destroying the steel watch really was too much of a betrayal. “Assuming you even want me, that is," Darling says, hesitantly.

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[loonylupinblack3]

Period Trouble

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: swearing, nothing else i think?

Summary: you wake up with your period and are forced to go on a mission with Logan of all people

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: literally obsessed with this man rn so ofc i had to write about him. also wolverine has enhanced senses including smell but its like…. barely shown in the movies so i had to search it up to be sure, and some part of me still doubts it but for the purposes of this fic he does have it

You woke up with a groan, immediately curling into a ball. You were early. You were early and you hadn’t emotionally or physically prepared for having your period today, yet the world seemed ready to punish you, burdening you with an early cycle.

You checked the time, cursing every god and deity you knew when you realised you were supposed to have woken up half an hour ago. Wincing, you got up, your body screaming at the movement. Already your stomach was aching, the ghosts of cramps to come caressing your body. 

There was knocking at your door, quiet yet firm. You already knew it was Storm on the other side of the door, no doubt in search of a reason why you failed to get up on time. It was going to be a long day.

You yelled out to Storm, promising to be out in five minutes, and got up, groggily looking for your clothes. When you’d tamed your hair and brushed your teeth, you exited your room to find Storm waiting on the other side, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

She took one look at you and sighed. “What are you wearing?”

You looked down perplexed. “....my clothes?”

She raised her eyebrow. “You’re on a mission today, remember?”

Fuck. You nearly let out a whine. You were not in the mood to go skulking around doing Xavier’s bidding when you had a constant throbbing pain assaulting your stomach, unreasonable mood swings, and exhaustion weighing you down.

Storm sent you a questioning look. “You up for this?”

The mission was nothing big. Professor X needed you to collect some sort of rare herb that had recently been shipped into the nearest city, something he needed to complete a super secret experiment you weren’t privy to. He’d just asked for help and you’d volunteered.

Oh how you regretted that decision now.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you muttered. “Let me just get changed real quick.”

Getting into your previously decided upon outfit, a plain inconspicuous one intended to blend in, you left your room again, this time with no complaint from Storm. Your stomach gave an uncomfortable clench and you sighed, making a mental note to find some nurofen before leaving for the mission.

“Why aren’t you in your outfit?” you asked, just realising Storm wasn’t wearing what you two had agreed upon yesterday.

She winced slightly. “Can’t go. Filling in for some classes.”

Your face soured but you tried not to hold it against her. Storm loved her students, and given the choice of helping them or Xavier with a low level mission, she’d obviously choose her kids. You couldn’t blame her exactly, but it meant you’d have to go on this mission alone, while not impossible by any means it would make it slightly more difficult.

You sighed. “That’s okay. I can go alone.”

When Storm winced even more your eyes narrowed in suspicion, following her with caution. “Storm…..”

She sighed guiltily. “Xavier didn’t want you to go alone. The herb’s too valuable.”

You tilted your head slightly as you entered the house’s foyer. “So who am I going with then?”

Storm’s eyes darted ahead, and you followed her gaze to find Logan Howlett leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He smirked at you, “you’re looking at him sweetheart.”

You resisted the urge to groan, instead sending Storm a dirty look. You didn’t necessarily dislike Logan, but he was a lot to deal with, and you were already tired from your day that had barely begun.

You couldn’t say all that with Logan standing there however, so you muttered a, “lovely,” and walked past the man to the garage.

He followed you silently, no quip or smart ass comment which was strange for him. You’d just entered the garage, heading towards one of the cars, when you glanced back at him and found Logan stopped in the doorway, staring at you with a frown on his face. Or rather, a deeper frown than usual.

“What is it?” you asked him, standing at the hood of the car.

Logan’s eyes roved your body, searching for something. “You’re injured.”

It was your turn to frown. “What? No I’m not.”

He took a step forward, almost as if he was planning on looking for your alleged injury himself. “Don’t bullshit me Y/n, I can smell your blood.”

You made a face. “What are you talking about…..” you trailed off when you realised it, perhaps the most mortifying moment in your life.

Logan could smell your period blood. He thought you were bleeding from an injury. 

You cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

He scoffed, walking towards you until you were face to face. You tried to step back and felt the hood of the car against your legs. “I can smell the fucking blood seeping out of you Y/n. I wouldn’t call that fine.”

You gritted your teeth to stop yourself from snapping at him. “I can assure you, I am not injured.”

You moved to walk past him but he caught your wrist, forcing you back into your position pressed against the car. “If you think I am going on this mission with you while you’re wounded, you’re out of your mind.”

“I’m not-”

“Do you think I’m an idiot darl? Is that why you’re denying being hurt while I can literally smell it on you-”

You cut him off. “I’m on my period, Logan.”

He paused, staring at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. You waited for him to speak, feeling embarrassed and furious about it. Why should you be embarrassed of your period? He was the one who was pushing you, prodding you, forcing you to tell him the source of the bleeding. If your answer made him uncomfortable, that wasn’t your fault nor your concern.

Eventually he spoke. “Alright then. Get in the car. I’m driving.”

You scowled at him. “Says who?”

He didn’t even bother looking at you, already in the driver’s seat. “Says me.”

You sighed but didn’t argue further, silently getting into the passenger seat. Logan started the car, reversing it out of the garage and driving down the long winding driveway till you got to the street.

“It’s an hour's drive to the city, give or take,” you told Logan, setting the GPS up on the car.

Logan barely glanced at it, eyes on the road, a firm grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t even respond to you. You sighed and turned away, looking out the window as the scenery passed you in flashes.

As the drive continued, you noticed Logan sending you glances every now and then. If you really focused on them, you’d almost say they seemed worried, concerned even, but they were always too quick for you to tell for certain. You were too preoccupied with your cramps that had started up anyway, and the lack of nurofen you’d forgotten to grab.

Finally, you arrived at the city, driving into the hustle and bustle of the crowded area. Logan’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, obviously not a fan of the traffic the city provided. You watched the stream of people through the window as Logan looked for a space to park, muttering under his breath.

You were mildly entertained at the amount of road rage he had, cursing every car that wasn’t at least 10 metres over the speed limit. His jaw was clenched, hand fisting the steering wheel, yet he still looked at you here and there, like you were actually wounded.

When he eventually found a parking spot the two of you got out of the car and you looked at the address Xavier gave you.

“Should be somewhere along this street,” you murmured, eyes flicking from the piece of paper to the busy street.

Logan moved behind you, so close you could feel your back against his chest, and looked at the paper in your hand. He let out a grunt and moved past you, walking forwards. You frowned and hurried your pace, not wanting to lose him amidst the crowd of people.

Luck was certainly not your side, because soon enough you’d lost him, unable to see his black leather jacket in the throng of people. You hesitated, wondering if you should look for him or just go straight to the address, when you felt an arm around your waist.

“Stay close to me,” Logan murmured into your war, his voice gravelly. “Don’t wanna lose you again.”

You glanced at him as he continued walking, not moving his arm from your waist. “How’d you find me?”

He gave you a smirk. “Followed the smell of blood.”

Again you felt your cheeks heat but you glared at him defiantly, refusing to be embarrassed. He smirked at you, flashing his teeth, as you arrived in front of the address, a plain building home to some sort of florist. 

Logan finally took his hand from your waist, walking to the door with you trailing behind him. A bell gave a little jingle as you entered, and you were immediately assaulted with the smell of flowers. Different sorts of plants took up every corner of the room and Logan’s face soured as he looked around, obviously not pleased with the environment.

An old woman sat behind a desk, watering a plant with a mini watering can. You walked up to her, Logan hot on your heels. When you stopped in front of the desk Logan was so close behind you you could actually feel his chest against your back.

“Mrs May?” you asked.

The old woman looked at you with a smile, her eyes crinkling. “That’s me. What can I help you two lovebirds with? Bouquet of roses? Lilies?”

You opened your mouth, surprised, and tried to find something to say. Being mistaken for a couple shouldn’t have affected you so much, especially while on a mission, but you were flustered and could still feel Logan’s chest right against your back, his warmth almost dizzying.

“We’re not here for flowers unfortunately,” Logan spoke, saving you. Except why didn’t he specify you weren’t a couple? Did that not matter to him, what some old lady thought, or did he enjoy the idea of being thought of as your boyfriend?

Oh god. What were you thinking? Stupid period hormones. 

The old lady looked at you two curiously. “Then how can I help you?”

There was a pointed silence and you realised Logan was waiting for you to speak. You cleared your throat and spoke the random sequence of words Xavier had you memorise, that would inform Mrs May just what type of buyers you were.

The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition and she nodded her head slowly. “Ah, yes, let me just go to the storage room quickly, I’ll be back….”

Mrs May tottered around the desk and through a side door, half hidden behind the multitude of plants covering the area, leaving you alone with Logan.

You took a step away from him and turned around to look at him, finding him staring at you with a frown on his face.

You frowned back at him. “What’s up with you today?”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “What is up with me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed Darl but you haven’t exactly been up to par yourself.”

You rolled your eyes at his words. “That’s not what I meant, and besides, I’m on my period.”

Logan stared at you, arms crossed. “What did ya mean then?”

“You’ve been acting strange. Less talkative and annoying like usual.”

Logan snorted. “Ever the lady.”

“I’m serious. What’s up with you?”

Logan sighed and took a step forward until he was towering over you and you had to crane your head up to look at him. “You are what’s up. I can constantly smell you bleeding, and I can’t get it out of my mind that it means you’re hurt. You’re driving me crazy sweetheart.”

Well…. That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Logan smirked down at you as if he knew that, and enjoyed surprising you. You cleared your throat as your eyes darted to the floor. “Well, that’s hardly my fault.”

Logan chuckled. “Not your fault no, but it is your doing whether you mean to or not.”

You swallowed, looking back up at him. “Well…. Don’t you constantly smell when people are on their periods?”

“It’s different with you. Smelling your blood just drives me crazy, plain and simple. Can’t get the instinct out of my head that blood means injury.”

The way Logan was admitting all of this, with such calm, made you think he’d been wanting to say this for a while. The unspoken confession was there, and it was up to you to decide what to do with it.

“I’m glad you care,” was what you landed on, unsure of what else to say.

Logan chuckled again, one hand snaking to your waist. “I do a lot more than care, Y/n.”

You smiled softly, looking up at him. With his other hand he brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The sound of a door closing brought you out of your little bubble and you took a step back, Logan reluctantly letting go of your waist.

Mrs May, either not having seen you two or graciously deciding to ignore it, passed you a package, informing you the herb and all information involving it was inside, and to handle it with care. You nodded and thanked the old woman before exiting the building, Logan again right on your heels.

As soon as the shop’s door closed behind you Logan’s hand was back around your waist. “Not losing you this time.”

You tried not to smile, though internally you were grinning like a maniac, and let Logan lead the two of you back to the car. You didn’t even get to argue your case of driving this time, Logan already in the driver’s seat. You sighed and got into the passenger seat, resigning yourself to another hour of silence as Logan started driving, when you felt his hand on your thigh.

You looked at him but he didn’t say anything, just gave it a light squeeze as he kept his eyes on the road. You looked away, grinning. So maybe the world didn’t have it out for you after all.

[froggibus]

Sex Rocks! - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: AMAB! Sloan Cameron x fem! Reader (reader uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Sloan is in for much more than they bargained for when they find a statue with magical properties—and you might be the only one who can help them out

CW: porn with plot, AMAB! Venture, sex pollen (but it’s a magical sex statue), dubcon, masturbation, showering, dirty thoughts (abt reader), slight voyeurism, blowjob, hair pulling, face fucking, cum swallowing, cock riding, mating press, multiple orgasms, protected AND unprotected sex, doggy style, multiple rounds, overstim, lots of cum, (think that's everything) use of the word shaft (im so sorry i hate this word but there’s only so many synonyms for dick)

yes the title is a pun ^.^ i meant to post this way earlier in the day but i got distracted and didn't end up finishing til tonight and it came out WAY LONGER than i thought. this is fr the longest smut ive ever written. anyway venture whores hope you all enjoy <3

It must’ve been Sloan’s lucky day. After barely an hour of searching, the glittering artifact they’d been looking for seemed to jump right out. Though the dusty gold colour blended in with the shimmering sand of the cavern, the three pink gems of the small statuette seemed to call to them. 

The figure was cold to the touch and buttery, barely bigger than the size of their hand. It was shaped like a beautiful curvy woman, with full breasts accentuated with the pink stones and a thick tummy—the likeness of some old, forgotten deity that Sloan could never remember the name of. 

They took out a soft piece of cut cloth and wrapped the statue before tucking it in their pack and beginning the short trek to the surface. Sloan buzzed the whole way up, that warm tingling washing over them. The kind they always felt when they found a new artifact, or when you laughed at one of their dumb jokes. 

As the surface came into view, the golden sunshine just beginning to dip below the horizon, the warmth grew stronger. It had been a hot day, and it seemed that though the sun was setting, the heat had not yet begun to dissipate. They took a long pause, letting themself rest on the rocks outside of the cave.

Wiping the sweat away from their forehead, they took a big drink from the canteen of water they’d brought along with them. It was a short trek, they weren’t usually this sweaty and parched from something so basic—but with the warmth of the day at its peak, they shrugged it off.

The car they’d taken was only just down the trail, maybe ten minutes away. With one last sip of their cold water, they tucked it into their pack and started the walk back. The sky was turning pink as they set off, but slowly turned to purple and then the rich black of night.

Despite the day’s end, the heat only grew more unbearable with the walk. Their thighs cramped as they made their way down the trail, their heart beginning to race. Whatever, they tried to ignore it and power through to the car.

Sweat coated Sloan’s forehead and chest by the time they made it to their vehicle. Their hair was slicked to the back of their neck, and the t-shirt they’d been wearing was rendered near see-thru. 

“Jeez,” they sighed, tugging off their t-shirt.

They tossed the sweaty fabric into their backseat along with their pack before sliding in the front seat to drive. They kept the AC on full blast the whole trip back home, though it did little to stop the boiling in their blood. 

Sloan was just pulling off the highway when a gasp forced its way out at the sudden tight feeling in their pants. They risked a glance down to their hard cock now straining against the thick fabric of their carharts. They shook it off, turning onto their street and trying to ignore the feeling of the bulge in their pants only growing with each minute.

It was almost painfully hard by the time they made it home. Sloan almost forgot their pack in the back of the car in their race to get inside and free their aching cock from the fabric that confined it. 

A sigh ghosted their lips when their cock sprung free from their boxers and they wrapped their sweaty palm around it. Their core was near sweltering, their cock throbbing in need. 

With a glance at the door to make sure it was locked behind them, Sloan spat in their hand and started to spread it across their aching cock. A shiver crawled its way up their spine, acting as a brief reprieve from the heat that threatened to consume them. They clamped a hand over their mouth and began to slide their hand up their length.

With barely a touch, they were already so sensitive. Pre cum dripped down the tip, pooling across their fingertips and mixing with the saliva already spread over their skin. They squeezed harder, dragging their hand up and down faster. Their muffled moans vibrated against the clammy skin of their palm, their eyes falling shut as their hand fell into a rhythm.

Thoughts of you filled their head. Thoughts of your smile, of your warm skin, of pinning you to the bed and using you however they pleased. Sloan gasped, opening their eyes as they came into their palm.

Fuck. Cum rolled across their fingers, down their still hard cock and collected into the hair at the base of their pubic bone. They smeared the remainder of the cum on their thighs, shaking off the aftershocks of their orgasm and deciding a cold shower would solve both the mess they made, and the throb between their legs.

With their clean hand, they dragged their backpack with them all the way to their bedroom, tossing it in the corner before grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom. They didn’t wait for the water to warm before stripping and stepping beneath the brisk stream.

The cool water settled the burning beneath their skin—but only just barely. Much to Sloan’s dismay, it also did nothing to soothe the ache between their legs. It was almost embarrassing, having an unrelenting boner for no reason like they were in school again.

They sighed, squeezing some coconut scented body wash into their hand and slicking across their cock. They didn’t bother to change the water back to warm, instead opting to let the frigid stream drip down their back. The nice smelling soap felt much, much better than their own spit—but they could imagine a few things that would feel even better.

Like your pretty lips wrapped around their tip, those kind eyes of yours pleading at them to cum in your mouth and—Sloan moaned, fingers clenching around their hard length. Just the thought of you touching them, or them touching you, was enough to have Sloan gasping and furiously jerking their cock.

Drops of soap flew away from their palm with every stroke, splattering the tile of the shower in front of them. God, wouldn’t they love to do that to you. What they wouldn’t give to do that to you. To have you lay down in front of them, completely at their mercy while they fucked you relentlessly and left you covered in their cum.

Their cock twitched, and then they were cumming. Wave after wave of hot cum burst out, coating the tile in front of them before being washed away by the water. Hard, shaking breaths wracked their chest as their senses returned to them and they could once again feel the cool water against their tanned skin. 

As they looked at the cum mixing with the water down the drain, all they could think was ‘what a waste.’

It only took ten minutes after their shower for the tingling in their cock to become unbearable again. The heat had returned almost immediately—and with a vengeance—but they’d managed to ignore the tenderness between their legs for only ten minutes.

Sloan was glad they didn’t bother putting their clothes back on as they settled into their bed and grasped their shaft once more. Cumming once or twice a day was normal for them, but this was something else entirely. Something had to be wrong.

Sloan pushed away their fears and started once again stroking their dick, leftover water and precum acting as a lubricant for their hand to easily slide around. They closed their eyes, and let themself think of you once more. 

How their cum would look running down your thighs, or splattered on your back. How nice your hands would feel gripping their cock, how you’d just beg them to fuck you.

Sweat dripped down their chest, wetting their tummy and the dark hair at the base of their cock. How long had they been jerking off this time? They risked a teary eyed glance at the screen of their phone—had it really been almost twenty minutes since they laid down in bed?

Twenty minutes and they were no closer to coming, but their dick was growing uncomfortably hard. A sigh passed through their lips. Their hand wasn’t enough, they needed something more, something hotter. 

Their mind went to you, pleasure hazed thoughts wondering if they called you, would you come? Would you help them? Before they could think it through, their fingers were dancing across the screen. Just the sight of the tiny contact picture of you at the top of their screen had them squeezing tighter, thick drips of pre cum rolling down their tip.

Sloan lets themself fall back into bed, their mind dancing away to thoughts of you sinking down on their cock. They roll their head to the side, their eyes catching sight of the bag they’d carelessly tossed in the corner just before their shower. 

Could the statue have done this? There were myths surrounding it, sure, but this? The thought was preposterous a week ago. Now though, with their insatiable lust, the thought doesn’t seem so crazy to Sloan.

Shit. They shouldn’t drag you into this. If it really is the statue, they don’t want to expose you to this. They reach for their phone to ask you not to come, to send you away, but just as their palm reaches the cold metal, the front door clicks open.

“Sloan?” You call, peaking your head in the front door. As soon as you’d gotten their message, you’d left your house. You’re talking more to yourself than them at this point, tiptoeing through the dark of their home. “I used the spare key you gave me to get in…are you here?”

Sloan bit their lip at the sound of your voice, risking a glance to the bag that contained the statue. Maybe inviting you here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“In here!” they call. Their voice is raspy, dripping with the need radiating from their core.

You follow the sound of their voice to the closed door of their bedroom, warm light leaking out from the cracks. It’s Sloan, and they don’t sound like they’re in danger, but something about their voice…

You push open the door. It takes two seconds for you to scan the room, two seconds for your eyes to fall on Sloan—sweaty, writhing and desperately jerking their cock in bed—and two seconds for you to turn away, covering your eyes.

“Shit,” you gasp. “I–I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

But it’s strange. They called you here to help them, they knew you were going to come into their room—was this what they needed your help with? You couldn’t help but clench your legs at the thought, a heat rushing to your core.

Sloan’s voice cut through the darkness of your hand. “I-it’s okay,” they say. “You can look.”

You slowly peel your hand away from your eyes. Though they covered themself with a blanket, you could still see the glistening skin of their chest, and the up-down motion of their hand beneath the fabric. 

Sloan knows it’s shameless of them to keep stroking their cock while talking to you, while you’re right there watching—but they can’t stop. Now that you’re here in front of them, the pressure’s increased tenfold.

You squint. “What’s going on?”

“I found that statue.” They keep jerking off.

“And?”

“The rumors about it were true.”

“Fuck,” you curse. 

When they’d been telling you about the myths behind the statue, you’d both laughed it off, stealing wanton glances at each other as you did. They’d assured you it wasn’t possible, that there was no scientific reason a statue would bear unto its users an insatiable appetite for sex.

Seeing them now, though, all sweaty and desperate, has you thinking they were wrong. 

“Sloan,” you say calmly, stepping in the room and gently shutting the door behind you, “what can I do to help?”

They bite your lip, and it’s just now that you notice their eyes are almost completely black in lust. A shiver runs up your spine. 

They pull back the blanket. “Touch me,” they swallow. “Please.”

You glance at their thick, throbbing cock dripping in precum. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in the worst possible way. It wouldn’t be right—they’re clearly not thinking straight. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sloan’s not sure whether it’s the statue, or their frustration, or some terrible combination of the two that prompts them to say, “oh don’t tell me you haven’t been wanting me to fuck you for months.”

Their brazenness sends another wave of heat to your core, your underwear suddenly feeling wetter than usual. “Sloan,” you say carefully.

“If you’re worried about consent,” they rasp. “I want it. All the time. For months, too. I think about it nonstop.”

Their words ease your nerves, and you find yourself approaching their bedside. Your eyes stayed glued to their cock and the hand furiously stroking it. “What do you think about?”

They watch you, dedicating each pump of their length to you. “I think about you while I fuck myself. I think about—about fucking you, and having you bounce on my cock and—god.”

You sink down on the bed next to them, wrapping your hand around the one rubbing their dick. “Let me.”

They slide their hand away, letting you take over. Already, your hand feels a million times better than theirs ever did, the ache in their core finally beginning to relent. They lay their head back, watching your hand glide across their sticky skin.

They suck in a breath. “Fuck,” they look at you through their lashes. “Use your mouth.”

You’re taken aback by their command. Their cock looks so inviting, dripping wet and throbbing in your palm. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had which only makes you want it more.

You look them in the eyes while you lick a bead of precum away from the tip. Sloan shivers, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling you down. You gasp as you take their cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it. It’s salty, a mix of sweat and precum, with a strange undertone of coconut—but it’s just how you imagined it.

Your jaw strains to take them into your mouth, their tip hitting the back of your throat after only a few seconds. You gag slightly, but Sloan only pushes your hand down further, groaning at the warmth of your mouth. This was exactly what they needed.

As soon as you start to see black spots, they pull you off. A strand of drool connects your lips to their length, dripping and coating your chin. They hum at the sight of you, so filthy already.

“Do you like how it tastes?”

You’re so flustered, so bewildered by the situation that you can only nod, clenching the base of their cock. You put your lips back on their tip and eagerly slide down for more. Their calloused fingers still tug at your hair, using the strands like reins to push and pull you how they see fit.

Sloan watches you intently the whole time, admiring the spit that coats your mouth and the way your throat bulges when they pull you a certain way. They’ve dreamt about fucking you for months now, but none of their wildest dreams could ever compare to this.

Despite the way your eyes water, Sloan pulls you down further. You look so fucking cute choking on their thick cock—they can’t help it. When you finally slap a hand against their thigh, they let go of your head and watch you gasp for air.

“Get on your knees,” they command.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice with the way your throat burns. The dominance in them only makes you wetter, a noticeable throbbing rushing through your clit. You’re all too eager to settle on your knees at their bedside.

They cup your chin, swiping their thumb across your lips to smear your drool and their pre across them. “So cute,” they murmur.

You lean back in to take their cock once more, but they tsk at you. Just as you tilt your head in confusion, you watch as Sloan grips their cock and rubs the messy, wet tip across your mouth. They smear it all across your face, making a mess all over your cheeks and nose.

A whine slips from your lips before you can stop it, but Sloan only laughs at it and finally lets their cock slap against your mouth. You open wide and take them once more, rolling your tongue over their length.

“So eager,” they tease, their fingers resuming their position in your hair, “if I’d known you’d be such a slut for me, I would’ve fucked you months ago.”

Sloan watches the shame glimmer in your eyes, followed by pure pleasure, and doesn’t miss the way you rock your hips against the floor. 

It only takes a few minutes of you on your knees before they’re coming, pushing your head down so you have no choice but to swallow their cum. Your eyes shoot wide as the hot cum spills in your mouth, pulling back from their cock and opening your mouth so they can see it.

“Good girl,” they purr. “Now swallow.”

You nod and obey without a second thought, licking their cock a few more times after to clean up the excess. “Sloan,” you say quietly, your voice raspy from the way they just fucked your throat.

“Hm?”

“Do you have condoms?”

They tap the nightstand that you’re sitting next to. “You wanna fuck me?”

You pass them the condom, eagerly waiting as they lay back in bed and roll it over their cock. Though they’re slow to put it on, you don’t miss the way their hands shake in anticipation.

Sloan watches you the whole time as you strip, discarding your clothes as quickly as you can. You climb onto the bed and straddle their waist, a knee on either side of their hips. Their hands clench your waist tightly, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise. 

Usually Sloan would be happy to let you adjust, but with the warmth of your pussy right there, they can’t wait any longer. Using your hips as leverage, they thrust up into you, the tip of their cock bottoming out against your cervix.

You cry out, burying your head against their sticky chest. “Sloan,” you whine.

“Sorry,” they pant, but continue thrusting into you.

You relax into them, slamming your hips into theirs to meet their rhythm. It’s painful at first, both the stretch of their cock and how deep it reaches—but it’s amazing, too.

Sloan barely thinks as they pound in and out of you, using your own body weight as leverage to get their cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your whines are like music to their ears, complemented by the rhythm of matching groans they loose every time their cock brushes your cervix.

You cum so hard you swear you go blind for a second. Everything is hot, your vision goes white, and all you can focus on is the way your cunt is gushing around their cock, juices coating their thighs. You go limp on their chest for a minute, letting them fuck you like a toy while you recover.

Sloan’s own orgasm isn’t far behind, their cock twitching as they spill into the condom—though they’d much rather spill into you. They almost draw blood with how tightly their nails dig into your sides, and the only word they seem to remember is your name.

Even though they’re unbearably hot and their cock is so sensitive it hurts, they still need more. 

“Can I keep going? Tell me I can keep going.”

You’re exhausted from the brutal pace they’ve set, but their cock fills you so well and they sound so desperate, you have no choice but to say yes. Upon your agreement, Sloan is flipping you onto the mattress beneath them and bending your legs to your chest. 

They can get deeper like this, and Sloan knows it too. They start their pace off slower this time, trying to give you time to recover before their own need takes over. They hold your hands, pinning them above your head while they fuck you.

Their eyes lock with yours as they increase the pace, the tip of their cock hitting that spot inside of you perfectly every time. There are tears in your eyes from the pleasure, but it only makes them harder. 

“Too deep,” you whine, squeezing their hands with as much strength as you can muster.

“You don’t love having me fill you up?” They mumble into your ear, “if I can’t stuff you with my cum, I’ll fill you with my cock.”

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, their dirty words sending you over the edge. You try to clench your knees together but Sloan’s body is in the way. They fuck you through your orgasm, squeezing your hands back with every bit of pressure you squeeze theirs with.

“That’s it,” though their words are soft, they punctuate each one with a thrust, “cum on my cock.”

They slide their hands down your body, resting on your hips once more. Their thrusts start to get sloppy, and you know they can’t last much longer like this. You reach up, desperate for something—anything—to ground yourself, your fingers coming in contact with their hair.

Sloan whines and cums in one sloppy motion, resting their head on your neck while they lazily thrust through their high. Soft groans and whines vibrate against your collarbone.

It takes a minute for them to collect their strength again, pulling their cock out of you. You look at them through tear blurred vision, eyes widening at the cum soaked condom dripping into the wild tangle of hair at the base of their length. There’s a ring of white around their cock from it all, and the only thought crossing your mind is how badly you want to lick it off.

Sloan can’t decide whether to admire the sheer amount of cum filling the condom, or be disappointed that they weren’t able to fuck it into you instead. They pull it off of their cock and toss it onto the floor—it’ll be a pain to clean later, but they don’t care. They reach into their nightstand for another one, but your hand wraps around their wrist first.

“You’re still hard?”

As if in reply, their cock twitches against your leg. Though the searing heat has finally begun to fade, the pure need coursing through their veins has not.

“You’re done already?” They counter.

“N-no,” you say quickly, though your pussy feels unbearably sensitive in the cold room. “But you don’t need to use that.”

They look down at the purple wrapper in their hand, then back up at you. Their eyes practically glitter in anticipation. “Raw?”

You nod shyly, reaching out your arms to beckon them back to you. You’ll never be able to match their insatiable pace—you know that—but you told them you’d help, even if it means letting them use you like a fleshlight.

They plant a kiss to the base of your throat, a devilish twinkle in the dark of their eyes. “Roll onto your knees.”

With their help, you roll onto your stomach and pull your knees up, arching your back to give them access to your dripping cunt. Too tired to keep your chest up, you rest your cheek against the single pillow in their bed and let yourself relax.

Sloan’s hands retrace the marks they left on your lips earlier, positioning you perfectly to line up with their cock. They land a harsh slap to your cunt with the head of their cock and slip it in all at once, relishing in the gasp that leaves your lips.

They rock their hips into yours, reaching up to tangle a hand in your hair. With one hand gripping your hips and another in your hair, they piston into you. You bite your lip to try and cover the onslaught of moans they fuck out of you and pray that Sloan doesn’t have neighbors—although at this point, they’ve probably heard enough.

“Feels even better raw,” they groan, balls slapping against your clit with a particularly brutal thrust. “S’like it was made for me.”

The burning in the pit of your stomach grows at their dirty words, your pussy utterly gushing around their length. Without the condom, you can feel the desperate throbbing of their cock, feel every twitch of their tip when they bottom out inside of you. They reach everywhere inside you, rubbing places you didn’t even know you had.

Waves of pleasure roll over you, each more intense after the last. Your pussy flutters around Sloan’s cock, but their pace doesn’t slow. They keep slamming into you, lewd slapping noises loud enough to cover your desperate moans. They tug your hair hard, pulling you closer, and roll their hips against yours.

Their cockhead brushes your cervix and your eyes roll back in the sharp pleasure that travels through your pussy. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth and your moans transform from fully formed words to stupid sounding babbles.

Sloan releases your hair from their grip and moves their hand to massage your ass. “Sounds so cute when you whine,” they coo breathily.

Your senses all come flooding back to you when you feel the first spurt of their hot cum inside of you. Your tummy flutters with butterflies, your pussy contracts, and you cum with them. Both of you writhe in bed against each other, Sloan’s desperate, near primal pants like music to your ears.

“Fuck,” you groan as you collapse into the bed.

They keep their cock inside of you, shallowly thrusting their cum back in. “Please don’t stop,” they whine. “Please, I-I need more. Please.”

Your whole body burns, your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you’d even be able to cum again. “Sloan,” you sigh, looking back at them. 

“Please. Please let me keep using you. Please. You don’t even have to do anything but please let me use this pussy,” they pinch your clit in emphasis. “Please.”

“Well, with begging like that,” you joke.

Sloan wastes no time slamming their cock back inside of you, and though you can hardly feel the harsh slapping motion, you can tell their pace has slowed. You lay there, sweaty and hot and with their cum dripping out and being fucked back in.

Sloan murmurs praises to you while they thrust, their mind half gone from how fucking horny they are. They can see cum dripping down your pussy, down your thighs and it’s so filthy and it’s so hot and all they want is more. They pound into you, chasing that final high they may or may not get, desperately gripping your sensitive skin until there’s marks.

Finally, they cum again, their hot cum gushing until you’re so full it starts to burst from the seams between your pussy and their cock. Sloan watches it leak out in a trance, as if in disbelief that not only did they fuck you, they also just fucked you raw.

The heat has completely faded from their body, and as they pull out from your cunt and watch the cum drip, their cock finally starts to soften. “Are you okay?”

You manage a weak thumbs up from where you lay in the bed.

Just as they go to put on their pants, their cock twitches again, and the heat comes rushing back. Sloan sighs, looking at you guiltily, “think you can do a round 2?”

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[thatdeadaquarius]

it's almost 4am i can't get this out of my head holy shit.

reader whose original body is a literal eldritch forest deity and speaks in hymns (bonus points: after we isekai into said og body, we mix slang into it).

the acolytes have to break their fucking necks just to talk to you eye-to-eye, and the only thing they can make out of what you say is something equal to tablets bajillion years old already.

or that reader is constantly cussing and the acolytes just nod along not understanding whatever this 15ft tall eldritch horror is saying.

-🫀

ELDRITCH HORROR READER. I LIVEEE, NONE OF U UNDERSTAND, THIS IS SO DEEPLY AHHHHHH

I LITERALLY JUST SHIMMY STIM IN MY SEAT WHEN I THINK ABT THIS TOO LONG LMAO

i LIVE AND BREATHE for when we look like eldritch horrors but are just people lmao

IF I HAVEN’T RUN U OFF, 🫀 MY HEART, MI CORAZON <3

U HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MIND DESPITE BEING A BLOODY HEART

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only), Eldritch!Reader

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: some headcanons, tiny scenario

Stars: a little bit of Zhongli, Xiao, Ganyu, Ningguang, Keqing, and the adepti

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Light Description of Body Modifications/Body Horror-esque, Light Description of Eldritch Horror Creature, Reader has a Non-Human Body,

& Trigger Warnings: Eldritch Monster, Light Body Horror, Non-Con Body Modifications (Wake up as a monster, described as positive).

FUCKING LOVE THIS GIF, AND THIS SONG AND ARTISTTT

hey so here’s a song to listen I was listening to while writing this, chose the instrumental bc it was less distracting!

👉👈 hope u like :)

you just come into Teyvat from either Enkanomiya, the straight up Abyss/Dark Realm or even Celestia/Light Realmunder that glowing mushrooms tree in the Chasm, or like, ooo even by the upside down Barbatos statue 👀

and its great bc ur like- “omg Teyvat ooooo, ahhhh”

meanwhile the animals/magical creatures/beings nearby like shakin in their boots

literally no matter what land type their in, water, air, etc. they’re all bowing (despite the hooves, the paws, the flippers, the wings,) hell, even the bugs?? Might be bowing???

and you were slow to wake up wherever you were, so it took you a second to really process-

plus it just felt so weirdly, natural?

Not like walking on 2 legs no, but more like, how swimming feels but without the act of doing it?

you realize you’re… hovering.

wow, guess you can do that now,

your pretty much crowned with every flower from the regions of Teyvat, and a few from other Realms like Celestia, Abyss, and Enkanomiya, etc.

you have extra limbs, you feel them shift like you’ve had them all your life, even tho you do smack urself a few times with them lmao (new hand-eye coordination is hard)

and you realize u can see elemental traces/elements of beings, even plants, all the time now?

It isn’t until you look into a pretty still pond that you see what you look like,

you’ve got more eyes

I mean u thought you’d just be one of the twins, or ur own person if somebody asked u what youd look like isekaied to Genshin Impact, not what looks like the elemental god of the fucking continent

but you don’t look bad! actually you think you look kinda neat!

You’ve got like this coat of many draping vines and plantlife, glowing coral poking out near the top that’s around your throat, and- is that- tiny waterfalls?? Running down your nature cape too??

the many gemstones and ore of this planet form your legs, strong and taller than even regular human guys back on Earth, you’re like what? Eight? Nine feet? (about 245cm, or 2.5 meters)

You’re head… it’s like a dragons skull?? You’ve got these black horns flowing out from the top too that fade to a golden glow, like a crown nearly, theyre draped with what looks like strings of primogems??

oh and your extra eyes are symmetrical that’s good!

tho it does seem like you got this handy hood included into your cape of much nature to flop onto your head

where your heart should be, there’s two bursting stars circling one another, one of pink, purples and light blues, the other of gold and blue, oh hey, the wishing stars for standard and character banners!

and if you like mushrooms, at least one of every kind in Teyvat’s countries/regions is looking cool on ur cape, and if you like bugs, the cool ones like the rhino beetles from inazuma are being cute little buddies on ur stuff too

and like in the gif, every step you take overfills with life, except it stays and doesn’t wither like above, and it also does that glow bit that some places in Sumeru do/Enkanomiya

You CANNOT be missed no matter where you walk, and your sort of constantly feeling like you’ve drank 3 energy + 5 espresso shots of coffee

but in a way that makes you sort of full? like full on life… and like you could be even bigger, and taller, if you willed it

♤

k but the adepti felt ur presence coming in hot from literal mountains away

Cloud Retainter, and Guizhong, had set up inventions long ago to sense the Original of Teyvat, just in case, because some signs of prophecy of your return had begun to show in their lands

Zhongli especially knew you were close to come after another major sign was met, the corruption after the Archon War, and the ravaging of the land by the fall of Khaenri’ah’s “metal beasts”

So when you finally walk your way into Jueyun Karst, the adepti are already waiting, Xiao, Ganyu, and Zhongli as well,

Luckily Ganyu, with Zhongli’s help or advice, convinced the adepti to share this meeting with the Qixing as well like Keqing, and the Tianquan herself

It was a momentous occasion after all, but you were just now feeling the need to maybe nap a little after nearly, what was it, 2 weeks worth of constant walking?

wow this new body had literal stamina for days

you arrived late into the night, around midnight, under a full moon, and they’re relieved all the signs are being met

◇

honestly the only reason you headed to Liyue was bc you knew it was the closest (the map of Teyvat was both familiar in the way it had been in game, but also on a deeper level, like walking around your house in the dark)

and u rlly wanted to be able to talk to somebody, bc u had no idea?? wtf you were??

honestly you thought the adepti/Zhongli would be a good bet bc they’d maybe tell u what creature u ended up as,

u did suspect maybe you’d ended up as some kind of god, but like?? none of the other gods looked like this???

and u see them all! up ahead in Jueyun Karst! Oh no! You really, really, really, hope they don’t think you’re a walking talking evil tree dragon thing-

…maybe you should wave?

◇

As you get closer,

Xiao’s back straigtens, Ganyu nervously looks at the ground, Keqing is trying to figure out where to look bc ur so tall, Ningguang has her hands respectfully folded in front of her and her facial muscles looks tensed for a fight almost, the adepti are shuffling nervously bc they’re not used to being the magically weaker/younger creatures in the area, and Zhongli-

Zhongli is no longer the mortal Zhongli.

Amber horns curl up from his head, long brunette hair with glowing gold tips flowing and loose, claws on display, as he stands in his finest and oldest lóng páo, black with gold detailing embroidered throughout, it details his deeds as Rex Lapis and Morax, the spears of his vanquishing gods across the front and back, he looks like a living painting

and although he looks as serene as if he’s about to sit down for some tea, the adepti can see the tremoring hands, the same he used to hide in his sleeves when he was genuinely intimidated by another god, usually the older ones he’d had to fight

but for the first time since the archon war, this was one he was going to welcome with open arms, and utmost respect, despite his position as archon forfeited

there’s a strange music in the air of the night as the animals and the bugs and creatures of the realm subtly make the beat, the god’s feet (of ore Rex Lapis hasn’t seen since he was a child, it was so rare to find) shake the earth of his land with each step, a deep quiet booming like a drum of war as they get closer

The God of All stops some distance away from them

…and the Huangdi of All, just waves. 💀👋

at Zhongli, the adepti, Xiao, the Tianquan, and the Qixing.

A long black limb with a rainbow shine like a crow’s wing raises, gives an ironically tiny wave of their clawed black hand,

and tilts their head, though a sort of greenery hood covering it

and speaks,

“ ˙˙˙ʎzɐɹɔ sı ʇıɥs sıɥʇ ¿ʍou ʇɥƃıɹ ɯɐ ı ʞɔnɟ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ʍouʞ sʎnƃ noʎ op uɯɐp”

your voice is like singing, deep, high, like a choir trying to sing all at once to them

Xiao cringes a little in surprise, he was braced for your older speech just in case but it still caught him off guard, and unfortunatly, he gives a quick glance to Lord Rex Lapis,

he can’t understand any of that, and Ganyu and Keqing are in the same boat, but while the Yaksha’s only done passive studying in hopes of understanding you, the Lord of Geo had gone much further back in trying to make sure he could understand your words, should the day come, his library, even now living as a mortal, is extensive

the other adepti and Ningguang catch a few words, but it’s too,, simple really, to understand

the words have no context, they need more, but such is the ancients, they’re meanings simple and all-encompassing

Lord Rex Lapis bows deeply,

“We welcome you with open arms, our Huangdi. Please, feast your eyes upon the land with which I have wrought with mine own talons, for all is ever truly yours.”

the adepti announces for them all, voice giving away no nerves, Xiao can still understand him luckily, though he has greatly simplified himself for the sake of being understood by the ancient god of creation,

“ ˙˙˙ʞɔıʇs ɐ uo ʇsıɹɥɔ snsǝɾ ¡¿ılƃuoɥz noʎ uǝʌǝ ¿noʎ oʇ poƃ ɟo puıʞ ǝɯos ɯ,ı 'ǝʇnuıɯ uɯɐp ɐ ʇıɐʍ”

your voice is an energy through the air, and makes the trees nearby lean in to hear you better, the creeks and ponds of the area leave their beds a little to get closer, geo crystalflys emerge and begin to swirl around your natural body, perching on your horns, making it look even more like a crown

Xiao gulps.

Rex Lapis’ and Ningguang’s spines straighten further if they even can from the impeccable posture they were before, They share a quick glance…

…neither of them caught that one, only a few words, and Ganyu feels her shoulders drop as she gives up trying to hear you and understand as well,

you make a strange sound, a high humming, a deep confusion with some worry, the crystalflys buzz around you a little faster,

then point to yourself

...and make a peace sign. ✌️

it was going to be a long night.

☆

idk if this made any sense, and I sincerely hope that you at least liked what I wrote a little bit, sorry about the over description 😭 I just felt like it was very important but then I realized I hadn’t even talked about the language yet… anyway here u go LMAO

I hope it was alright, and I seriously love your idea, even if I didn’t take it in the direction you wanted/as cool as you meant!! :/

Thanks for the badass idea, i fucking love eldritch shit <3

☆

Safe Travels,

💀 ♒

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: annnd we've made it to velaris ! yippee !! now it's time for all the introductions >:D i hope you enjoy pls let me know what you think angels <3 ok mwah bye

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

CHAPTER EIGHT :: STRANGERS (AGAIN)

The air all around you is sickly sweet.

Maybe... sweet is the wrong word. The air is clean; perfumed with an allure of scents you've never smelt before, heady and swirling, sweet and sterile all in one.

But more importantly, it is utterly foreign.

You're in unknown territory. Age old instinct has you shifting the moment you wake, surging up in a rush before your memory can catch up and remind you why that's an terribly bad idea.

The sheets rustle as you push yourself up into a sitting position, a heavy dose of panic already poisoning your system. It doesn't take long for the pain to follow.

You falter in your movement as an aching agony ricochets through your body, forcing out a wince. Your eyes screw up in pain. Your entire body feels like a bruise, punishing you with every movement.

You allow yourself only a moment of pause before you force them back open to take on the new threat, every sense filtering in unknown information as they sluggishly come to life. You have to blink rapidly to clear your vision, light coming in from all angles.

Why does it feel as though you've been asleep for years?

Where are you?

A room. You're not outside which is where you memory places you last. The extent of the memory drifts back as you search the room, your eyes climbing the walls, ravenous for details. They're made of some kind of warm coloured stone that covers the whole ceiling, you realise, as you follow the line of it up.

You screw your eyes up again and blink hard when you open them again. Every sense keeps pinging for your attention, a thousand things unfamiliar. The bed beneath is too soft, the sound of the wind outside isn't a whistle, the clothes on your back...

You startle, stumbling off the bed you've awoken on as you peer down at yourself, eyes moving about wildly. You're wearing... something completely new.

Frowning down at your arm, you raise one of your hands and pinch at the new fabric that covers the expanse of your arms. It's soft. So soft.

You tentatively smooth your hands down the tunic you're clothed in, all the way down to your pants. Each thing is finely made, with details far smaller that you would ever consider, and soft. Warm but sturdy.

What the fuck? Your chest starts to heave as panic truly sets in, your breath just out of reach before you can catch it. You gasp, grasping at your chest tightly, the new clothes scrunching up beneath your fingers. Memories begin to trickle back in as your mind scours for any information about how you ended up here.

You had been... cold. It was raining.

And your wings had been—your wings—your brain trips over the thoughts as every detail bleeds back in, sudden and frightening.

Stakes driven through the flesh of them, your wings pulled taut, stretched out for lashings and prepped for removal. Your terror climbs, its cloying grip tightening around your sternum like a fist.

Eyes screwed closed, you pray to every deity you can imagine, begging the Mother for this one thing.

You twitch the familiar muscle and feel the weight of your wings as they respond. There's no describing the relief that bursts within you, overwhelming your panic in an instant, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. They're still moving, still stretching out as you command them, still yours.

You stand there and peer over your shoulder, stretching your wings out as far as you can—cringing when they stop before full extension, buckling and bunching up at the violent spike of pain that ripples through them. It echoes through your body, making you hunch forward and grit your teeth. Your left eardrum wails extra loud.

What had happened? What had changed?

You could recall the finality of being down on your knees in the pouring rain, your hands are bound as your fate. Endless agony. The secret you couldn't keep, despite all you had tried.

You had been resigned to it—to dying there amongst in the dirt from where you had come from.

So, what changed?

Behind you, there's an abrupt noise from behind a door in the room, a rustling that makes your head snap around to face it.

Someone’s coming.

You stumble back a couple steps, dread mounting in your chest and your panic returns in full-force. You don't know where you are, you don't know how you got here, you don't know who is coming through that door.

You know that you have a lot more foes than you do friends.

Eyes darting around the room frantically, you spot a balcony down a small hallway and don't waste a single second.

As you begin to stride, you realise faintly that you're without shoes, feet bare on the cool marble floor. It turns to carpet beneath you as your fast strides transforms to a run, hearing the door open somewhere behind you.

It feels like a trap. Not the nice clothes or the fancy room would be enough to fool you. You're caught in a sickly sweet trap of honey and the net is being reined in, the ropes closing up on every side of you. It feels like you're being chased.

Heart in your throat and pulse rabbiting wildly, you burst through the doors of the balcony, daring a glance behind you without thought—

—and you nearly plunge off the edge of a mountain.

The gasp that escapes your throat is entirely involuntary, your fingers gripping the edge of the stone railing the adorns the balcony.

Your balance tips momentarily, the momentum of your dash nearly pulling you over. Terror freezes you. You're fairly certain with the state of your wings, it would be a short flight and an almost guaranteed casualty.

But a wind blows gently against your face, as though helping push you back to safety.

When you're sure you're not going to topple over the edge, some of your crippling panic eases. Your breaths, short and fast, begin to slow.

Your eyes travel up from the daunting height of the mountain side and widen, all the air in your lungs stolen in pure surprise.

Because before you, stretching out across the land that meets the sea, is something you've never seen before.

It's... a city.

A city that sits amongst the rolling, steep hills of the terrain and curls around a meandering river that leads out to the ocean. Tall, jagged mountains surround it from all sides, their hills steep up the top until they give way to gentler slopes, eventually becoming paved roads and streets for magnificent buildings.

The structures gleam, even from afar, made with precision and beauty in mind. Some are white marble or warm sandstone, others the same red stone of the mountains beside the one you're standing on. Small, quaint houses with green copper roofs, their white chimneys smoking softly.

Your breath stutters out in an exhale and you don't dare blink.

A city—a sprawling, wondrous city that was bursting with people, with colour, with life. So utterly unlike the chilled gray-scale of the Illyrian Mountains.

In fact, you wonder briefly if this was even the Night Court at all. This— this incredible sight felt like something you'd imagined of Summer or Spring, imbued with warmth, a place where things could grow and thrive.

The Night Court was... foul. It was the biting frigid cold of the wintry mountains or the shudder-inducing darkness of the court that lay beneath the mountain. This... where is this?

As though you've spoken your thoughts aloud, a voice answers from behind you.

"Velaris."

You start, whipping around fast enough to reawaken all your wounds, forcing you to stifle a pained noise that leaps up your throat. Your heart thunders as your eyes lay upon an unfamiliar figure, stepping out from the empty hallway—a form cut from the very night itself.

Your hands grip the stone railing behind you and you're unsure whether it's to keep your knees from buckling in fear or from bolting off the edge, into uncertain skies.

He's unfamiliar to you, yes, but you have a feeling you know exactly who he is.

"You asked where this—" The male waves a casual hand to the city beyond the balcony before pocketing it, either unaware of your panic or uncaring. "—is. You're in Velaris."

He surveys you, his violet eyes glancing down at the strained way you clutch at the railing.

"I know you must have a thousand questions. We haven't been introduced. My name is Rhysand and I am—"

"I know who you are." You interrupt. There's a lilt of fear in your voice but you couldn't keep it out even if you tried. He's the fucking Highlord of the Night Court.

Which means—Azriel.

His name slams into you like a shooting star, glowing hotly and dripping through your ribcage with a fire warmer than you've ever known.

Azriel must be— he was the one- he's the reason you're still alive. It feels like you relive the relief of his appearance during the storm all over again, remembering that he came back for you.

You have no idea the cacophony of emotion you're giving off, shouting all your unguarded thoughts across the balcony.

Rhysand's cool expression doesn't falter at your disruption. He looks at ease, both hands in his pockets, like he's merely having a conversation with a friend.

"Then it's important for you to know," He continues. "that I mean you no harm."

Lying, lying, liar, LIAR—the thought festers from within you instinctively, only growing in its urgency. You and everyone else where you come from are well aware of the origins of your Highlord.

And while he's your ruler, he's first and foremost, an Illyrian male.

"Only half," Rhysand corrects.

You startle, sickly surprise at the fact he seems to be able to read your very thoughts.

Then he confirms it, by saying, "And I can."

"You can read my thoughts?" You echo, voice sounding so much meeker than you intend. You sound like a child—and you feel like one, feel like the same eight-year-old staring down at the scorched brown earth in Exordor. Old blood. The same dirt you had been forced to kneel upon that now makes you shudder at the fresh memory.

Rhysand's expression falters momentarily at your train of thought, a flash of hurt on his handsome face.

His eyebrows draw together, forming a sympathetic, troubled look. "I can teach you how to shield them, if you so wish."

You don't make a noise. You don't even dare to take a breath, your fingers still crushed around the railing.

Within you, some part of you knows what he's offering. What the very nature of his words implies. He voices it anyway.

"You're no prisoner here. You're free to—”

"Where's Azriel?" The question falls from your lips before you can even think to stop it. Fear hammers through your chest—Fae that make a habit of interrupting Highlord's often find their lives cut short.

But Rhysand gives no impression that he minds. All he does is step to the side, revealing the empty hallway out to the balcony.

Except it's not empty anymore.

There, standing back to hide in the shadows as he did best, is your Shadowsinger.

Reserved and holding back, clearly waiting for you to remember him, to make your call before he made himself known. Making sure you wanted to see him at all.

Azriel, all 6ft something of shadow and muscle, with his wings tucked politely behind him, takes one step out on to the balcony and towards you.

His hands stay at his sides and his hazel eyes watch you with a familiar intensity. Something deep within you unfurls at the sight of him.

It feels like the collision of a thousand stars rain down on you, their jagged, burning fragments pelting into your body.

It's as though the world had been falling out from underneath and then, seeing him before you—when Cauldron knows how long ago you had been resolutely convinced you were never ever going to see him again— suddenly your feet were grounded and the world was still.

You breathe out his name. Azriel sways forward, almost imperceptibly, as though the sound of his name on your lips was a siren call he was helpless to fight.

You don't know that you say it sweeter than he's ever heard it in all his centuries.

Like following an invisible tug, you don't even realise when you start moving, only that you're rushing towards him with an urgency you can't begin to comprehend. It's like he's calling to you and you can't bear to be this close to him and not press in closer.

His beautiful face, usually guarded, reveals a glimpse into his storm of emotions. Concern, care, and something that looks suspiciously like... longing.

Your brain catches up and your feet falter, bringing you to a stand still before him, chest heaving.

Reason starts to catch up to you, asking meanly about what exactly you meant to do, running up to him—you weren't raised with physical touch beyond violence. You and Azriel had barely touched beyond sparring and those quiet nights in your shelter, skin brushing as you passed something to the other.

In the end, it's not you that moves, it's Azriel.

He closes the distance between you with one single step and his strong arms sweep around your middle, pulling you into the tightest hug. Night-chilled mist and cedar swirl your senses.

Helpless to do anything else, with no desire to do anything but this, you melt.

Your weight slumps into Azriel and he takes it without question, your arms curling around his neck to hold him back just as tightly. The light around you shifts, his shadows frenzied as they kiss along your neck and arms, all checking for hurt they can ease. Your heart is torn between soaring and stopping altogether.

The world fades away as his head ducks down, pressing his face the crook of your neck. It's more touch than you've ever known. More safety, more kindness than you've ever dreamed of. You and Azriel seem to exist only in a cocoon of shadow and warmth, in each others arms.

"You're alright," Azriel murmurs, his breath against your neck. It sounds more like he's reassuring himself than telling you. He sounds devastatingly sincere when he says, "I'm so fucking glad you're alright."

"Thanks to you," You whisper back, not wanting to break the silence. "You—"

The words get caught in your throat and you know you need to see his face when you say this. Pulling back from the embrace, you clear your throat as Azriel straightens up. You miss the heat of his body almost instantly.

"I-I thought I was never going to see you again."

It looks as though your words pain Azriel, a flash of pain and shame crossing his expression. His voice, low and gravelly, holds a guilty tone you've never heard him use before.

"I never should have left."

You blink. That wasn't what you had expected him to say in the least. It was you who had lied, who had deceived him from the very beginning. He was— he had— this was what you got for letting anyone get close to you, you understood that.

You shake your head, pointedly ignoring how it makes your injuries throb. "I know why you did, Azriel. I can't imagine—"

Azriel's scarred hands clench into fists at his sides, anguish colouring his face.

"No." He shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing."

"Then why did you leave?" Your questions comes out with an edge this time, a biting fury as your emotions process what he's saying.

He says you did nothing wrong. He says he shouldn't have left you behind. It's a ugly mixture of hurt and anger that paints your insides as realisations churn to the surface.

Azriel steals a glance to the side, serving as a quick reminder that there was, indeed, someone else still out on the balcony with you. You glimpse at the Highlord as your anger begins to bubble but you can't bring yourself to care.

You had... trusted him— you had let him in, let him get closer to you than anyone ever had, and he had left. He left, he left, he left. He did exactly as you had feared and he was wrong for it.

The greatest secret of your life, exposed like a raw nerve, and he hadn't said a word as he deserted you.

Your heart warbles at the betrayal and you can't help but step back, putting distance between the two of you. It's such a far cry from the nearness of a moment ago.

And even though you know he wasn't responsible for the events that followed, in the haze of your upset, it's awfully easy to add it to his betrayal. As if in response, your wings flinch and shudder as a wave of agony passes through them. You wince, gritting your teeth and turning your gaze to the ground.

"I can leave to give you both some privacy," Rhysand cuts into the conversation, evidently answering Azriel's pointed glance in his direction. "However, I don't think it will be overtly helpful. She's shouting every thought so loudly, I think I'll be able to hear it from the other side of the house."

She. It's been so many years since anyone has used that in reference to you that it nearly winds you, your entire body giving a visible flinch.

It feels foreign. You can't quite tell how you feel about it; whether it's some lost part of yourself to reclaim or whether it's something you've outgrown altogether.

You don't get time to consider it further as, bustling as she walks, a fourth Fae steps out onto the balcony. She's an older female in appearance but certainly not in her sprightliness. Her eyes land on you and they lighten up, as though you're the one she's been searching for.

"You are supposed to be resting." She tsks, without much further explanation. Your heart sinks, already feeling as though you're in trouble. Rhysand, reading your abrupt switch from anger, jumps in to explain.

"Madja, here-" He gestures to the female with a polite smile- "is our resident healer. She's been taking care of you over these last couple days, helping to heal your wings."

A severe reminder of the sorry state that had been in not too long ago. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes glaze over as they take in the dozens of scattered markings that litter your wings. Irreversible. Your glorious love, changed forever.

There's patches over the ends that you hadn't noticed before, covering where you know the stakes had been. You suddenly feel an immense rush of gratitude towards the stranger before you.

"Thank you," You say, your throat thick. You want to say it again, want to repeat it over and over til your lungs bleed because just once doesn't seem enough.

But Madja nods in a grave way, as though she knows your internal turmoil.

"You weren't supposed to be up and moving quite so soon," She says, this time with less disapproval in her voice.

She directs a more withering look towards Rhysand and Azriel, enough to surprise you. Perhaps, healers held a higher rank within the city than they did in the mountains? The whole scene looks like a mother scolding her naughty children, especially with how both males shrink beneath her glare.

"Anyhow, come now," She turns back to you and gives a gentle wave of her weathered hand, ushering you back inside. "You'll need at least a days rest before you should be back on your feet."

You amble in her direction, too fearful to glance back at the Highlord and too conflicted to turn back to Azriel. You had broken his trust with your deceit but... he had broken your trust back.

He had abandoned you when you needed him most. But he had also turned up during your darkest hour and saved your life.

You weren't sure what you wanted to do more; hug him once more or throw a shoe at his head. Probably both would make you feel better.

From behind you, you swear you hear a faint chuckle of amusement.

—

When it's just the two of them on the balcony, Rhys turns to Azriel, ignoring his brother's unsubtle sullen demeanor.

"So," He grins. "Mates, then?"

Azriel casts a glance across the balcony, still rigid and unmoving from his spot. His shadows perk up at the word but Azriel gives no reaction beyond a twitch in his jaw muscle. Debating whether to respond at all.

Finally, he mutters, "How could you tell?"

Rhys tilts his head back, chuckling quietly, his mind cast back to an old, fond memory. His violet eyes slice back to his Azriel and he gives a little shrug. "A hunch, really. I think I might have enough to start a theory actually."

He wanders over and nudges Azriel with his shoulder, breaking him from his frozen spot and nodding for them to both head indoors. Rather reluctantly, the Shadowsinger falls into step. Side by side, Rhys gives him only a moment of quiet to stew in before he pipes up once more.

"Say— how much do you remember Cassian and Nesta's first meeting? Any flying projectiles?"

tags below!

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[bunny-lily]

Tether Me - Prologue

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader Summary: You ran.

It's what you did in life. It's all you knew how to do. You ran, ran, and kept running and never stopped, because if you stopped, it meant you were trapped, chained, a bird with shredded wings in a gilded cage.

So, how did you end up here, tucked away into a little village in rural Japan, falling into the depths of two black holes with no way to escape?

How could you run from this? From them?

…Would you? CW: No y/n | polyamory | slow burn | slice of life | alt au - no curses | fluff | light angst | eventual smut | forgive me, there's internal monologues | I like using big words... | Gojo & Geto are whipped for you | emotionally constipated reader | (most of the tags have been condensed, you can find the full list on my ao3 here) AN: this is just the prologue chapter, sort of exposition. No bois in this one (technically), but I'm posting chapter 1 at the same time as the prologue. As a heads up, my most comfortable place for posting my longer fics like this is ao3. You can find more of my blurb thoughts on there. I'm not the best at tumblr posting, so forgive me pls ;-;

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2

WC: 9.4k

You’ve always likened yourself to a kite, but less pretty and enjoyable.

Every time you glanced at a kite in the children’s toy section, or watched as thousands flew in the sky during festivals, your eyes stung and something bitter and uncomfortable twisted in your gut. In a way, you saw yourself in them; fragile little creatures tethered to the earth by no fault of their own. So easy to snap – to break.

They were always trapped, chained down, forever bound to either get reined back in after one had their fill of fun, or to fall like tragic angels to the ground when the winds died, and they would once again be unable to travel free amongst the stars where they belonged. All thanks to the threads wrapped around their very bones, far too strong for something that looked so thin and prone to fraying.

Yet nobody ever did release the chains. Who would willingly free their prized, imprisoned bird?

Of those pretty, unfortunate kites, you lamented with them. 

You, too, were pinioned to solid ground. Your wings were clipped, feathers torn from flesh one by one until you were born in a body that could no longer fly. Responsibilities, duties, relationships – they all kept you drowning in a suffocating pile of down-stuffed pillows, filled with plumes that were once yours. They progressively got heavier and heavier, locking your limbs between illusions of comfort and safety, sitting on your chest and flooding your mouth until you choked and gagged and couldn’t breathe.

You were different from kites, sure, beyond the very obvious things. You weren’t a pitifully flimsy, inanimate toy, left forgotten in some closet, awaiting the one day you’d be remembered, taken out, and allowed to taste the breath of deities themselves again. But if you could glide in the wind like they could, oh, nothing would bring you more joy, more solace, even if you were still tied down. All for just a kiss of freedom.

You ached to be detached from everything and everyone. An untethered kite, a fledgling bird learning to fly, a paper lantern that glowed its very joy from within for all to see.

Paper lanterns.

You couldn’t stand paper lanterns, because you yearned so deeply to be one. How wonderful it would be to have a warmth alight inside you as you rose to the heavens, lighter than air. 

You envied them. 

They made you nauseous with longing.

They made you want to stretch your fingers high and try to catch one within your palm like a cascading star.

They made you want to reach your fist past your throat and rip out your heart barehanded, just to make the accursed thing stop pounding so goddamned hard in your stomach as it sank lower and lower with each additional candle that got to join their family of stars beyond celestia. 

Because, for fuck’s sake, you belonged up there, too. Free, flaring, blazing and flickering so spectacularly that philosophers would wax poetic about you for ages to come.

It wasn’t fucking fair for you to be stuck on Mother Nature’s spine like this, burdened by the neutron star in your body that just grew more and more dense, urging you to dive into the ocean and let it snare you into its depths. You didn’t choose to spawn with a spirit disconnected from the flesh that acted as its prison, you didn’t choose to be jailed like this.

So, why?

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you were drawn to kites. You pitied them. You pitied yourself.

You weren’t a kite. You didn’t want to be one, to have your boundless form fettered down. But when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, that’s all you could ever see staring back at you. A kite with faded, worn out paints that barely clung to the tattered paper, feebly held together by thin strips of bamboo that had been aged and mottled from the inside out by time.

You hated paper lanterns. You hated kites. You hated yourself.

As the years dragged on, from the moment your brain snapped into your body with the sudden realization that you were a conscious, living, breathing person, those ugly feelings festered and spread like a fungus that refused to abate even a trace, just a second so you could catch a breath of fresh air that didn’t reek of mildew.

The seconds spanned on for eons without prejudice, destroying your cells at the molecular level with each passing birthday that trudged reluctantly along.

In the back of your mind, the sensation of being asphyxiated by your own feathers that had been shorn away from you etched itself deeper and deeper into your psyche. You became restless, antsy, the variegated world around you fading rapidly. Colors you once saw as a child, before you could latch the inherent sense of wrongness in your chest to a concept, gradually dulled until all you were left with was a world tinged heavily in gray.

The streets you were raised on grew denser, despite the amount of people living on them never actually changing noticeably. The verdant grass of your backyard turned into a dominating presence everytime you laid your eyes on it, unruly and all-consuming, demanding an undivided attention you did not want to give. The orange beams that hung over black asphalt instilled a sense of panic in you that wasn’t there before. 

You used to be fond of walking around your neighborhood in the middle of the night, when you rightfully should have been sleeping. An inverted circadian rhythm suited you well when you were young, unaware that the crushing sensation under your sternum would only get worse. 

Now, though, the thought of straying out where there wasn’t enough light to see straight ahead made sweat form on your chest and palms while your teeth clattered from a nonexistent chill.

Everything caved in on you. Not in a rush, not in a cataclysmic flood. No, you didn’t discern you were fighting for air until you were already gasping fruitlessly. Lost, terrified, unsure, you could only bear witness to the collapse of your own mind.

Then, one day, a soft voice whispered in your ear.

Run.

It wasn’t a threat, not some ominous warning of death looming over your shoulder. It was a suggestion, an offering, an olive branch towards that freedom you coveted. It was salvation. 

Who were you to ignore the hand of deliverance?

The first time you changed your scenery, moved elsewhere, even if it was only a few streets away from your childhood home, felt incredibly liberating. After so long that you had forgotten how it felt, you got the chance to gulp down air as if you had surfaced from beneath the perdition sea after spending your whole existence beneath it. 

Color returned to your world, excitement formed anew, everything felt right. Achromatic wastelands turned into kaleidoscopic meadows, fulgent and lucid. You savored it, reveled in it, frolicked and danced and lived.

…It didn’t last. 

Not long. You exhaled, and it all vanished, sand swept away by an uncaring and spiteful hand.

Once you had become used to the environment, when you no longer had to actively remember where your flat was, or how long it took to get to the store, everything was washed out; water dumped on a painting that had yet to form defined shapes.

That crushing sensation had returned, and with it the reminder that, as much as you wished you weren’t, you were a kite. Tethered, perpetually confined, worn bamboo strips and thin paper threatening to rend under the drag.

Thus, you ran again. A new town, a new city, a new skyline. Euphoria nestled cozily under your breast like a second heart, purring contentedly as it curled up on the nest of blankets it created for itself.

New places, new faces, new people. All of it was fascinating to you beyond measure. It interested you to no end to learn about other human beings; their thoughts, their perspectives, their preferences. What they despised with grit teeth and barely restrained anger clenched in trembling fists; what they loved so dearly that they could never drown beneath the same waves that followed your heels, tide rising progressively. 

They glowed from within, bright and budding and vibrant. Their eyes flickered with life, glazed so clearly that stars sparkled in the depths of their hues. You were drawn to them, a moth to mesmerizing fire.

You felt free. You rode that high as much as you could, for as long as it would allow.

Until a realization struck you with the force of a bullet train one night. A man hung onto your arm, easy laughter shared between the two of you as you let him take you home. Alcohol tinged his breath, but not enough to give him anything more than a slight buzz. He was a total gentleman through and through, and you listened with eagerness as he spoke about his upcoming work project, his excitement palpable with every word. 

His hand linked with yours, fingers intertwined, his warm palm engulfing yours. There was a comfort in that transient window of time, one you held to your heart. It was so unfamiliar, so addictive. And as you stopped before your door, having completely forgotten of your lack of wings, you waited with bated breath for him to slant into you.

A pair of infirm lips, minutely chapped and tasting of wine, pressed against yours, and dread exploded in your gut.

He pulled away from you, lovestruck in the way his eyes shone as he looked into your own, and reality crashed down on you with horrors in three measures, shattering like broken glass in the vortex of your conscious thought.

When you stared at him, watched the way he opened his mouth to speak, you made the connection.

“I really like you,” he had murmured to you that night, nearly shy. Yearning. Hoping.

Paper lantern.

“I want to ask you out properly.”

Tether. 

His words sank into your skin like ice, digging deep, burrowing into your marrow.

Kite.

The illusion of pellucid skies of the richest shades cracked, the lush plains you fantasized of often turned to barren heaths, and all those tormenting feelings came back to choke your breath with a vengeance. Sickly fingers wrapped around your throat, sunk into your mouth, dug past your gag reflex, wrapped around your ankles and wrists until you could barely lift your feet just to move forward. 

You remembered with great disdain what you were. You had managed to sever your thread by running off from the pod you were born in, but it wasn’t a clean cut. The string hung off your fragile wooden bones loosely, just waiting for somebody to grab and yank, to shred your freedom away from you once again, to leave you knotted around a pole to sit like decoration and stay.

You were not free.

You were not a paper lantern. You did not gleam from your soul like he did. You did not pour light from your heart and words and touch.

You’d do anything to forget that, to prove that sentiment wrong, to show the world that you weren’t a rock thrown into a pond. You’d do anything to change the narrative, to force a rewrite. So, you did what you always did.

You ran.

You found somewhere else to live, blipping off the radar unannounced. One moment you were there, the next you had cut your lingering thread an inch shorter, following the wind blindly like a duckling to your next destination.

Each time you settled down somewhere, you had this silent hope: maybe this is where I’ll be happy.

You clung to that hope, fervently ignoring the screeching whisper in your ear that said otherwise. The next place was never the final one. It never would be, no matter how hard you tried to delude yourself into believing you weren’t a lost soul, unable to move on. Some pathetic ghost you’d make, if you weren’t one already.

Whenever you let yourself rest for a heartbeat too long, the rope you had trimmed ever shorter was skimmed too close by too-warm fingertips, and you fled again, and again, and again.

That’s all you seemed to know nowadays.

Perhaps proven now, as you sat on a train in a foreign country, absentmindedly watching rural landscapes race past the window. Your knuckles pressed indents into your cheek, the sensation unpleasant and nearing on painful, though you had stopped paying any mind to it a while ago. Your thoughts laid scattered at your feet, and you couldn’t be bothered to pick them up.

Rather, the white matter of your brain was being filled with the empty, buzzing tune of songs you’d heard a hundred times over playing through your earbuds at the loudest volume possible. It made things easier to manage during this grand, several-thousand-mile-long trip. The less thinking you had to do, the better. It was the absolute last thing on your bucket list, loitering just under the cutoff line, hoping to sneak in a few words you refused to listen to.

You couldn’t let yourself regret this. You wouldn’t.

Not now, not after you’d already dropped everything and dissipated beyond the welkin’s gaze. You had only one place you could go to at all now, and you were already on your way there.

So if you had to blast your eardrums out to bridle the whisper-shouting voices spurned by overthinking, so be it.

Rice paddies blurred by, blending in from one farm to the next. The sun reflected off the waters the stalks soaked in, absorbing the warmth the light provided and feeding the plants with the fruit of life. Somewhere along the way, you had begun counting each field you passed for no particular reason.

You thought it’d lull you to sleep like counting sheep, subconsciously desiring to sink into a dreamless abyss and catch up on the hours that had been eluding you every night for months up to this point, given how far away you still were from your destination. But your cerebrum was not kind to you, and your body refused to succumb to the tempting allure of nothingness.

Thus, you remained as you were, counting paddies as the day never quite moved forward. The sun dwelled high, trying to glare down on you, but it couldn’t get the angle right to invade the shade of your tiny cabin room on the train.

It stayed stuck to the center of the sky, mighty and proud. But then, after what seemed like only a few seconds, you blinked, and suddenly it was hanging off the horizon’s ledge.

With a slight jolt, you realized the train had decreased in speed, and was continuing to lose momentum as it approached an isolated station, all alone in the countryside. You checked the time on your phone, your eyes feeling unusually heavy and sticky. It was only early night, but you were worn down to your sinew.

Right. Jet lag. You had hopped on a plane and traveled to the other side of the planet on a whim, another desperate attempt to grab onto the concept of freedom you craved. It didn’t take you longer than a week to find a small house deep in the pastoral lands of Japan, where mountains wrapped around the valley like a scarf. You chose Japan, if only because you learned the language when you were studying abroad some years ago.

It resided in a town of such a low population, blissfully around 600, it was a wonder you could even find a train that took you this far to begin with. Of course, that meant the house was decently rundown, with a community small enough to consider it unnecessary to repair. You couldn’t care less. All that meant to you was that it was cheaper to buy it outright than rent a more maintained structure. Buying it was a risky move, given your track record of up and ditching the last bed you slept on without any hindrance, but, at this point, you were tired.

You just wanted to be somewhere for longer than a month or two. Maybe owning a house was contrary to your desires to be unbound, with no board to pin your tattered and thin wings to, sure, the pros far outweighed the cons.

Cheap shelter, little to no people, far, far away from anywhere you’d been before. Three for three.

It’d still be a 45 minute drive or so before you actually got to your new residence, but you weren’t in any particular rush. You chose the most isolated place on purpose. Less people, less deafening sounds, less claustrophobic, brutalist structures that loomed higher and higher.

Less chance of being tied down.

With a hiss and a loggy wheeze, the train settled into place, jostling you as you got to your feet and stretched your arms above your head. The muscles in your back and shoulders twinged from sitting in the same position all day, and your legs stung like sparklers, but it was nice to work your joints properly again. After tucking away your phone and earbuds, you tugged your luggage down from the overhead rack with a grunt.

You were hopeful that there’d be taxis outside the station, and that you wouldn’t have to walk to the village. Who knows how long that would take. You’d probably keel over after the first mile. The thought made you snort while you squeezed down the aisle, suitcase with your bag stacked on it rolling behind you, purse strapped across your torso. The conductor – a sweet, older man – nodded silently to you as you disembarked, waving a farewell to you, which you returned. He was nice, you remembered him greeting you when you first boarded. 

He didn’t talk much, just a polite, “welcome aboard,” while the ticket collector pointed you in the direction of your cabin, which you greatly appreciated after hopping off a plane and hurrying your ass over to your required station. You were too spent for conversation.

Leaving the station was much easier than you expected. Unlike your home country, where you could get lost just by turning 45° to the left, Japan seemed to prefer neater environments that were easy to navigate. And, upon stepping out of the building, you rejoiced at spotting a few variously colored cabs waiting along the curb. Outside of one stood a man, roughly in his 50s or so, who waved you over.

“Need help getting somewhere, miss?” He questioned, and you nodded as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through your emails to find the one confirming your purchase of the listing. 

“Yeah, could you take me here?”

He glanced down at your screen when you showed him the address and chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s a surprise. Last time I visited that house was some twenty years ago to take the owner to the station, rather than from.”

You blanched nominally. Twenty years? Had your house really been abandoned for twenty years? The listing claimed it was only ten max, that estate bastard. A sigh left through your nose. Too late to deal with that now, you figured. “I just purchased it.”

The man nodded as he popped open the trunk and assisted you in slotting your luggage inside. “You look like you’ve come from far away. It’s rare for foreigners to choose to live in such a distant location. Not a fan of the city?”

I fucking hate cities.

“Something like that, yeah,” you assented, thanking him as he opened the back door for you. 

You appreciated his efficiency as he wasted no time dilly-dallying around. As soon as he was buckled up in the car, he was on the road, taking you down the last leg of your trip. The world outside the window streaked by in shades of violet and blood orange as the sun hovered on the edge of the skyline, reluctant to rest for the night.

“Ah, apologies. I’m Hayato Kazuhiko, you may call me Kazu, if you prefer,” he quickly introduced himself, and you followed suit. “Why’d you choose this little village of all places? It’s very small.”

You hummed. “That’s exactly why I chose it. I’m not a big…people-person, if you know what I mean.”

The older gentleman chuckled lightly. “My wife is the same,” he nodded as he peeked at you via the rearview mirror. “She had to visit the small town I used to live in one day, and it was love at first sight for us. She was immediately drawn to country life, and we’ve lived out in the neighboring town here ever since.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Twenty-five years,” he nodded, and you could see the pure love and devotion in his eyes as he spoke about his spouse. It was wholesome, and softened your heart a sliver. 

He was surprisingly relaxing to listen to. Pleasant voice that didn’t grate on your ears, a few stories shared about his wife, the occasional tale about some significant structure or location. It was calming, in an odd way. He’d point out a shrine or hiking trail you’d pass by, and offer to take you to them one day to teach you its history and meaning, and you actually considered it.

It could’ve been the harmless nature about him. Even as night descended and you could only really see his silhouette, inspecting him reminded you of your father, but…better, for lack of an accurate word. You weren’t afraid that he’d suddenly raise his voice, or take you down a suspicious road – or, hell, back to the train station to send your sorry ass right back to where you came from.

“Mr.–” you cut yourself off and cleared your throat, mildly embarrassed about slipping back into your mother tongue. Japanese honorifics were something you continued to struggle with. “Hayato-san, do you have children?”

He gave a mellow laugh and shook his head slightly. “Please, just Kazu is fine. And I do, three of them, in fact. A younger son, and twin girls about your age,” he estimated roughly.

So the fatherly air to him you picked up on wasn’t imagined. That brought you a form of reassurance you couldn’t distinctly name.

“My twin girls are all the way up in Tokyo,” he continued, chest puffed with pride, “and my son is still in highschool, causing chaos.”

“Chaos?” You raised a brow.

“Yes, but not the type you’d think,” he hummed. “He’s a gentle child, but his kind nature means he’s unfortunately quite gullible and gets himself into trouble.”

A voice, the faint echo of a memory long lost, intoned in the far reaches of your lucidity; someone shaming you for getting caught up in an issue that wasn’t even your fault. Your stomach twisted with dread, and your head snapped to peer at Hayato, expecting to find disappointment shining in his eyes when you studied them through the rear-view mirror.

Except, there wasn’t any.

Concern at most, a crease in his brow as he warred within himself between protecting and helping his kin, or letting the kid learn on his own. There wasn’t any disappointment, or anger, or exasperation. You could see him reminiscing as he stopped talking, focusing more on the twists that followed the mountain’s curve, and all you saw was just…love, and happiness.

The churning in your gut settled, instead replaced with a sense of hollowness. Not the kind that made you sick; rather, it was like you had a gap in your chest where a puzzle piece was missing, while his was filled with a perfectly fitted heart.

Bittersweet, possibly, but only distantly so. You felt happy for someone who was borderline a complete stranger to you, someone you shouldn’t even care about beyond tipping him well for driving you to the middle of nowhere in the dead of night, but you did anyway. 

Maybe I could have had that too, your thoughts mutedly supplied, if I was normal.

Then again, you didn’t want that, not really. Though you couldn’t tell if that was just who you were as a person, or a result of the coals perpetually under your feet, it didn’t change your mind.

Nothing could.

You were sure of it.

Smooth concrete eventually became a densely packed dirt road when Kazu turned off the main path, the car vibrating as the wheels rolled over loose stones and gravel. It didn’t last long, thankfully, as the shabby looking pile of wood came into view, albeit dark since the stars overhead were too dim to illuminate anything much.

“Where we are, miss,” he spoke as you both climbed out of the vehicle and met at the trunk. He opened it to retrieve your luggage, and you pulled your wallet out of your purse and counted off a few bills, wondering what the right amount to give to him would be.

It was hard to translate currency worth when things were valued differently in this country. Your trip abroad was a long time ago.

“Is this enough?” You peered up at him and held out the bills.

He took one glance at them and chuckled deeply. “That’s far too much, really,” he replied as he pulled only two of the strips out of the small stack you were holding. “Be careful with your money while you adjust to the currency of this country. Do you need assistance with your luggage?”

“Oh,” you analyzed the remaining money in your hands before tucking it back into your wallet. You really hoped he took the right amount needed and didn’t undersell himself. “No, I’ll be okay. You got me here in one piece, that’s all I could ask for.”

“Are you sure?”

Your head bobbed as you inspected your suitcase and bag, popping out the handle. “Yes, I am. Drive safe, Kazu-san. Thank you for taking me here.”

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Please, it’s my job. You are pleasant company.”

“Likewise,” your lips rounded into a smile as you bowed politely. It was small, and you were tired, but it was genuine, the first one you’ve had for a long while. “Goodnight.”

Kazuhiko waved his hand in farewell, bidding you good dreams as he climbed back into the taxi and drove off, leaving you alone.

Your lungs deflated.

The air here was crisper, stinging your throat in a pleasant way as you inhaled slowly. Faint hints of pine and sap drifted across your senses. Nothing indicated any heavy stenches of smog or gasoline or gods know what litters the streets of every downtown city you’d been to before.

It would probably take you a while to get used to, and you oddly didn’t want to, if only so you could admire the fresh fragrance every time you stepped outside. Your muscles relaxed, surprising you as you hadn’t noticed just how tense you were until you were perched outside the front gate of your brand new (old) lodging.

Turning to face it, you groaned upon the realization that it was on a hill. Said hill was tiny, mind you, but a hill nonetheless. You found you couldn’t give much of a shit right now, just yearning to lay down and pass the fuck out for a while. Maybe the rest of tomorrow, too. A few weeks, actually, if you were allowed to choose. A coma sounded wonderful.

“Home sweet home,” you mumbled to nobody in particular as you pushed open the gate and virtually jumped out of your skin at the near shriek it gave. Okay, it had to have been longer than 20 years, that was loud. 

With your heart fluttering rapidly, you made a note to deal with it (and everything else) later and trudged up the incline, almost eating shit and dying when the toe of your boot caught on the edge of a stepping stone. Another thing to add to the “deal with later” list. You had a feeling it would just keep growing exponentially.

Finding the key was easy, for better and worse. It simply sat in the door knob’s lock, very safe and secure and definitely not putting your house at risk of…what?

There was nothing in there, evident when you pushed open the front door, which wailed just as loudly as the fence gate. You felt the blood drain from your face. Sure, the interior was empty, but the house was a wreck. Peeling walls, strange, crusty scent, and a sticky floor at the entrance that made you grimace when your sole pulled off it like velcro. You knew that it was custom in Japan to take off your shoes at the door, but fuck that. Absolutely not. You were not walking in any part of this house either in socks or barefoot.

Everything was virtually pitch black as you delved further in, so you depended on your other senses, and the ability to smell was one you wished you didn’t have. Your nose wrinkled as various rotting odors welcomed you, making you immediately regret going through all this.

Morning. You’d deal with it all in the morning.

Practically sneaking on your tip-toes, you explored the open space, trying to find the room that smelled the least and was passable to sleep in. Granted, there were really only two actual rooms down a hall going opposite of the kitchen besides the restroom and washroom, but the bigger one seemed decent.

At least you had a sleeping bag and wouldn’t be conking out on the bare floor. You went through the motions of prepping for bed mostly by habit, doing the bare minimum seeing as you didn’t have much of a choice. You brushed your teeth with the water from your tumbler, located and unrolled your sleeping bag, and climbed under the rustling top after yanking your shoes off, zipping it up as far as it went. 

Admittedly, the setup was kinda janky, but it got the job done. 

You couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas.

With your head plopped on probably the least comfortable pillow you had found to bring with you (also the only one that would fit in with the rest of your shit, it was practically a pillowcase filled loosely with sporadically placed lumps of stuffing), you closed your eyes, and your body finally let sleep take over.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Morning was not pleasant. Surrounded by the musty scent of gods-know-what, back aching from the restless sleep you got from your pitiful sleeping bag and the hard floor, you were groggy beyond belief and desperate for fresh air. And a massage. And a cigarette.

You didn’t smoke, finding the heavy and pungent funk nauseating, but the temptation was there. You felt you gained a little more understanding of smokers.

Brushing the thought aside, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and rubbed the heel of your palm against the sore spot on the side of your skull. You would have believed someone replaced your pillow with a rock if you hadn’t intimately known that lump of fluff. Or, rather, lack thereof.

Red lines, tender to the touch and tingling a little, were pressed onto the arm you laid on for most of the time you slept, causing you to hiss when you traced your fingers against them. It seemed to be barely past dawn when you reviewed what was out your window, leaving you questioning just how long you slept, if at all.

Figuring you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, you shoved yourself out of ‘bed’ and groaned when every joint in your body popped and every bone creaked. Hell, you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep tonight again. Not here, anyway. More problems for future you.

She’d certainly be happy about that. She already had so much shit to handle.

The growl of your stomach reminded you that food was something you needed to consume to continue living. 

Reluctant as you were to do anything, you figured going out by starvation was 1) probably not the best idea, and 2) you wanted to be out of this dingy torture shed.

What was unfortunate was that you, like a smart person, didn’t bring anything more than snack bars and those weird trail mixes with the fruit cubes that you just threw into your bag without much care. It was really the only motivation you needed to walk your sorry self out the door. 

After you brushed your teeth and changed your clothes, of course, being very careful to not let anything touch the floor.

Stepping out of your home through the shabby and creaky door with your purse slung across your chest, you were met with the grandiose sight of mountains surrounding you on every side. They rose high, aching to brush the sky and touch a star, just one, just once, just for a second. Covered in thick greenery, you figured the faint yet present scents of cedar, pine, and other woodsy tones were carried down into the valley from the steep inclines.

You couldn’t see any of these details nearly as well when you were dragging your tired ass to this place with ink covering the sky in a thick veil, but it truly was breathtaking.

Had nature always been this green before?

Having only done some cursory research on the village – namely, population – you didn’t bother giving yourself time to actually inspect photos of the tiny rural town. From what you’d seen anyway, pictures could never do it justice. A velvety breeze brushed against your cheek, prompting you to tuck your hair behind your ear and pivot towards the direction the gale came from.

Your breath left you in a silent ‘oh’, mesmerized by the incredible view of the rising sun you had. It shone valiantly and radiantly through the gaps it had carved out between the towering peaks itself, illuminating the land in shades of brilliant gold with its splendor.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you felt…nothing.

Not a sense of hollowness, nor a void in your chest, no.  A peaceful kind of nothing, as if not a thing in the world could take your mind away from this newfound elysium you found in sharing the morning’s shine with its source.

Invisible fingers caressed your jaw, threading through your hair with the gentle touch of adoration, as if you were delicate.

You hated to be treated like you were easily breakable, as fragile as glass, but this sensation was consoling, rather than degrading. The wind cherished you, not akin to a brittle figurine, rather as someone who was beautiful and worthy of gentleness unsullied by pity or licentious intentions. As if you were someone to be worshipped and revered.

A mother combing her fingers through her daughter’s hair, humming a lullaby only she knew the tune of.

Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to find what you were searching for. You didn’t know what it was exactly, a question without an answer, but it gave you a place to start.

With a deep breath swelling behind your ribcage, filling your soul with air untouched by sickly city pollution you were so accustomed to, you turned and began heading down the beaten dirt path that led into the heart of the village. The early summer warmth was pleasant on your skin, not too hot given the time. It seeped into your cold fingers and made them ache a little less with each minute going by.

While the town you had chosen was visually quite a bit older in style, with smaller structures dotted about reflecting traditional Japanese designs, there were some modernities. Electricity was, fortunately, one of them. 

Based on the fact that you found and bought the listing online, you figured there was likely a way for you to get your hands on some Wi-Fi here, too. You’d probably die without it.

The nearer you drew to the center of the population, the denser the structures became. Not to say they were rubbing walls, but neighbors were only a short few steps away, compared to the distance between your own house and the one closest to it.

Minka houses in significantly better condition than yours spanned either side of the road as the terrain shifted from soil to asphalt. They were beautiful, and you bet that living in that kind of house in this kind of place was either absurdly expensive, or dirt cheap, with no real in-between. You were personally on the latter end of this, which probably wasn’t a good thing. 

Doomed by the narrative once again.

Off in the distance on an elevated surface, you could see what you thought was a Wayo Kenchiku temple, if you had to guess. Its overlapping roofs were a deep green in shade, nearly black. They protected the desaturated brown walls of the building, and you were taken aback by how easy the temple was to see from where you were.

It sat across a wide river, one surprisingly calm as you approached it. It rushed along, springing with glimmering waves that shimmered under the light and frothed white around raised boulders. Despite it coming across as fairly deep, you could see clear through to the bottom, with the water itself being a refreshing shade of clear blue. A bridge spanned the rift, made of sturdy wood that had dark railings protecting either side of you, matching the aesthetic of your surroundings.

The bridge whined under your weight, but didn’t shift, giving you some reassurance that you wouldn’t go crashing through the planks. It led into the most packed section of the whole area, with structures built closer together, bearing a more modernized likeness, while retaining its unique characteristics.

In truth, though you remained apprehensive, the voice that scratched at the back of your skull everywhere you went and pestered you to run, run, run, had quieted. You hadn’t registered it, the silence, too focused on taking in your new surroundings as a serene blanket covered the thoughts that usually pranced wild and free in your cranium, putting them to rest with a whispered mercy:

This feels right.

It didn’t take you long to spot what you figured was the local grocery store. The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside, peering at what products you could see on the shelves and aisles from where you stood. Being an anxious little creature, you double-checked to make sure you had your wallet, as well as the translated bills within. Last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in a place where everybody knew everybody.

Reassured, you chose a random aisle and headed down it, skimming the products to see if any of them appeared even vaguely familiar to you. Besides cans of soup and tubes of Pringles, there wasn’t much for you to grab onto. Sure, there was ramen, but you didn’t have a way to boil water. Cereal and milk, maybe?

Shit, no, you didn’t have any cutlery or dinnerware. Unless you wanted to be a sad raccoon and eat raw cereal straight from the box, but you weren’t that desperate.

Yet.

Mentally crossing out your options as you went through them, you nearly knocked over an entire row of items when you almost ran into an older lady who stood in the middle of the strip, watching you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You hopped back a foot, raising your hands in front of you placatingly. “I-I didn’t see you there, am I in your way?”

The woman laughed and shook her head, her smile reminding you of a grandmother that’d sneakily give her grandkids candies while their parents weren’t watching. “You’re quite alright, I was actually wondering if you need help?”

“Oh, uh…” Bashfully scratching the back of your head, you glanced at the various bags of foodstuffs beside you and debated your choices. Say no, when it was painfully obvious how green behind the ears you were, or set down your pride and ask for assistance.

Your stomach chose for you, warning you to suck it up and get food before it began eating itself.

The woman’s chuckle was heartier the second time around, her eyes glimmering with mirth as she motioned for you to follow her. Feeling a bit like a scolded child, you trailed after her while she wove her way around her store towards the produce section at the back. She pulled a random fruit from the thunder-rain-shelf-thing (you honestly had no idea what it was called) and rubbed it against her apron before handing it to you.

“Eat,” she insisted.

You blinked rapidly, peeping the fruit, the sign for it, then her. “How much…?”

The lady waved her free hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Eat, I insist.”

You were going to argue further, but a deep cramp in your gut had you sinking your teeth into the sweet and wonderfully-textured treat. As embarrassing as it was, you borderline moaned as you chewed, quickly taking another bite. Whatever it was, it tasted divine.

This time, when she directed you to move with her, you followed without hesitation. “Thank you so much,” you mumbled as she pulled out a chair from behind the counter and urged for you to sit on it.

“It’s nothing, I can’t let you go hungry, now,” she swept away your worries. “You’re new here,” she stated, rather than asked.

You nodded through another bite, waiting until you swallowed before continuing the conversation. “Yes, I got here last night.”

“Oh? Are you visiting someone?”

“No, I moved here.”

Her brows raised. “Really, now? Who are you staying with?”

Mid-bite, you stopped to address the matter. “Oh, no, I’m not living with anyone. I purchased the house just outside the village.”

The way her eyes widened was nearly comical. “That place? Now, that’s a surprise.”

If you had a nickel.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that now,” your lips tugged into a frown and you stifled it with another chomp into the sweet object in your hand.

At that, she simpered mutedly. “I apologize. I’m merely awed that it was still standing, let alone that someone had bought it. Last I heard, there hasn’t been anyone living there for, oh, maybe 20 years or so.”

The realtor, that dog. He did lie to you after all.

You scornfully hoped he was enjoying spending your money.

Picking at your cheek with your free hand, you looked away with a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it’s…not in great shape. I have a lot of work cut out for me.”

“You’re going to try to repair it?”

“Yeah. Keyword being try.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise choice.”

You sighed. “Me neither, but I don’t have much of a choice now.”

The woman shook her head, smiling regardless. “You let me know what kind of help you need. There are plenty of handymen in this village of ours, I’m sure they’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but…I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for your name,” you pouted, hurriedly introducing yourself.

“Just call me Granny. And I won’t take no for an answer, missy,” okay, now you really felt scolded. “I won’t stand for you trying to fix up that cluster of wood by yourself, it’s far too dangerous. And you shouldn’t be staying there while it’s in that condition, either. Give me a moment, let me find someone you can stay with.”

Panic rose up in you and you waved your hands frantically in front of you. “N-No! It’s fine, I’ll– I’ll figure something out, really, don’t worry. Please.”

Granny eyed you suspiciously, her hand hovering over the landline on the wall. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! It’s fine, I’m fine, I promise.”

Her eyes remained squinted, even as she lowered her arm. “Alright, if you say so. But if you need any kind of help, big or small, come to me right away, okay?”

Relieved you wouldn’t have to interact with more strangers, you nodded and deflated. “I will.”

“Promise me, young lady.”

“I promise.”

She grinned brightly and ruffled your hair. “That’s a good girl. Let me pack you a few things to take with you so you have something to eat.”

“Ah– wait, I…I’m not very good with currency yet,” you halted her sheepishly. The prices were still confusing as fuck to you. Man, how the fuck were you going to manage this when you get a job? If?

“Nonsense, it’s on me. I won’t charge you.”

Sorry, what? Did she do that for every person she met five minutes prior?

“But– but that’s not–”

“Finish up your peach,” she asserted as she was already walking away with a bag in her hands that wasn’t there a second ago. What was it with grannies and having some weird, innate magic?

Your eyes darted down at your half-eaten peach, surprised to learn that it wasn’t some foreign fruit you’d never even heard of before, let alone tried. It was an exceptional blend between succulent and rich; easy to bite into and chew without pouring juice all over yourself.

The fuck kind of peaches have you been eating before?

Sensing you might be buying these often if they were this good, you had well-nigh inhaled the rest of it by the time Granny came back with a stuffed bag.

“Here you go, dear,” she held out the shopping bag to you, which you took graciously after tossing out the peach pit into the small trash can by the counter.

Glancing into the bag, your lips shifted downwards. It was filled with a few different fruits and veggies, a couple bags of snacks, but mostly packaged food that looked like it could be eaten as is without needing to worry about cooking it. Your guilt skyrocketed. “Granny, this is too–”

“Don’t worry about paying. Save your money for the repairs of that home of yours.”

Your head shot up, eyes widening. “I can’t–”

“You can because I say so, young lady,” Granny puffed out her chest proudly, using a motherly tone that easily put you in your place, much to your bafflement. You didn’t even listen to your own mother like this. “Come back in the evening, I’ll have something cooked up for you.”

“You really don’t–”

She made brushing motions with her fingers, shooing you off the chair. “Off you go. There’s a lovely little pergola in the park, go have breakfast there. Just turn right when you leave and keep walking straight.”

Flustered, you let her push you along out the door, your confused brain trying to catch up. “Granny–”

“I’ll have a list of handymen for you when you return,” she informed you right as she managed to get you out the door. “Explore the town while there’s still daylight!”

And just like that, she was back in her store, sweeping with a broom that you swear materialized out of nowhere. You stared at the shop for a good minute, blinking dumbly until you processed whatever just happened.

You still weren’t wholly sure. You went in, expecting to grab a bag of something random to ‘feed’ yourself with, and left with a bag full of free food from a woman who spontaneously decided to give it to you. 

The fuck. She’d go bankrupt if she just kept giving strangers sustenance off her own back.

Your own feet seemed to carry you along as you exhaled through your nose and took her instructions to heart. Too late now, you’d feel bad if you went in and returned everything. It’d be insulting at this point, and you were hungry, anyway

A cooked meal did sound lovely as well, discomfited as you were. You had never met your own grandmothers – not in person at least, so you had no idea if grandmothers were simply like that or not. Regardless, you had a feeling she was going to fill that role in whether you liked it or not. 

Luckily, you were drifting towards like. She did give you free food, after all, and was going to find help for you. That part you were more apprehensive about, however, stubbornness and introversion making you want to be stupid and attempt to pick up carpentry out of nowhere.

All you could do was try to accept it and sigh, taking in the sights, stores, and dwellings as you walked past them and towards the park. A couple shops caught your eye, particularly a clothing boutique, and what could possibly be a hardware store. You weren’t certain, and didn’t want to find out yet. The prospect of entering one and facing the big ass sign that said ‘you don’t know what the hell you're doing!’ was too daunting to approach for now.

It didn’t take you long to get to the park. In fact, it was such a short walk that it bemused you. A population of 600 people seemed larger on paper than it was in reality. Most of the town was behind you, granted, but the uncanniness was uplifting, in a way.

It didn’t feel claustrophobic. The trees in the park were closer together than some of the buildings outside it, and they smelled so good that it knocked you back a step. The entire wild garden carried the fresh perfume of sweet and fresh vegetation, from blooming flowers scattered about and the grass underfoot, to the rustling leaves above. You couldn’t recall the last time you were in a park, let alone one that was as vibrant and alive as this one.

The pergola was easy to find. It resided in the center, right beside a large pond that you saw was filled with koi fish when you got close. 

They swam to-and-fro, carefree, intermingling, playing, and searching for food. 

Your stomach twisted when you made an unintentional connection in your mind. They reminded you of kites. Pretty, ultimately trapped.

The koi fish, however, didn’t seem to mind one bit. Not that you could understand fish language. They just went about their business calmly. It perplexed you, didn’t spending their lives in a single body of water bother them? Didn’t it make them depressed?

Could fish feel depression?

Shaking your head to rid it of the peculiar journey your mind had gone off on, you set the bag down on the table under the pergola and settled into one of the chairs, reaching to dig through your options. Of the items present, you opted to munch on a sandwich Granny had tossed in with everything else, bundled in saran wrap and clearly made by her.

While you were skeptical of pre-made food bought in a grocery store like this, one sniff had you biting into it ravenously. You were way hungrier than you thought as you devoured it, trying to will yourself to slow down enough to at least savor the taste of it. Your earlier guilt and trepidation disappeared three bites in, and you were now very much anticipating Granny’s handmade cooking if this was the kind of sandwich she was capable of creating.

You questioned again if all grannies were like this, or if you lucked out. Either way, if it meant you didn’t have to struggle with food for the time being (or ever, if Granny let you mooch off her forever), you didn’t mind getting spontaneously adopted by her at all.

About halfway through your meal, the koi fish in the pond caught your attention again. They were gorgeous animals, graceful and sleek with scales that twinkled iridescently when the sun flickered over them from between the gaps in the canopy above. They had you mesmerized, sights focused solely on them as they showed off.

Maybe they had managed to hypnotize you, because you decided to tear off a piece of the ham, rip it into tiny pieces, then throw it towards the pond. There was a large splash as all the fish rushed towards the food, making you snicker.

A sort of childish glee bloomed within you, persuading you to indulge them a smidgen longer before you finished off your food. The park seemed like a sacred place where nothing could touch you, where the lands would remain lavish and healthy, and where you could let all your worries fade away.

Arcadian – that was the best way you could describe it. Placid, halcyon, grounding, mellow. You could go on and on, really, but you–

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled when you sensed that someone, or something, was watching you. Heat grazed against your nape, slow, measured breaths right behind your ear. A kiss from a pair of soft lips that never reached your skin. A demanding presence wrapped around your figure, a prey caught in the trap laid out precisely by a steadfast and salivating predator.

Ghostly fingers slid down your shoulders, crept over your forearms, and encircled your wrists, holding them in place with a deceptively lax hold. Something firm and wide pressed against your shoulder blades, keeping you between it and the table.

Your heart kicked in your throat, preventing you from swallowing anything more than a tiny gasp.

And, like the cornered quarry you were, you shifted slowly to peek from the corner of your eye, avoiding any sudden or abrupt movements. You expected to find a beast hovering over your shoulder, eagerly anticipating your reaction. 

There was nothing. 

Only foliage greeted your wide-eyed inspection, expansive and untouched since you came here. The feeling of being hunted on had evaporated as soon as you checked, and though uncertain of this verdict, you chalked it up to being in totally unfamiliar territory. A result of a soundless, featherlight brush of wind, a critter in the foliage envying the fish you fed, lasting no more than a sigh.

Your brow furrowed as you searched through the plant life, seeing not even a hair out of the ordinary. That dovish sensation the park carried returned like it had never left to begin with, coaxing you to let it go and relax.

Maybe that was your cue to leave.

You shook off the lingering sensation with a shiver. Everything was okay in the wooded pasture, and as tranquil as your surroundings were, you knew you’d have to face the elephant in the room eventually.

You dusted yourself off as you got up to dislodge any lingering crumbs, carefully packed everything back into the bag, and took one final look around. This place would become your safe haven, you determined. Already, you were thinking of coming back, the memory of your adrenaline spiking fading rapidly. Imagining returning here gave you that minor push you need to fill your lungs with courage and turn to head back out the way you came.

You could explore the town later. Right now, you needed to address the state of your new stead and gauge what laid ahead of you first. Maybe it’d give you at least an idea of what you required to get started on all of this, though you doubted you’d come out of witnessing it in the full glory of the sun knowing more than you did now.

Absentmindedly, the milieu filtered into your subconscious, automatically noting small landmarks here and there to assist you in finding your way around the streets while they still confused you, until you had learned to traverse them and knew every path and alley like the back of your hand.

(Just in case, you assessed the back of your right hand. You know, to reacquaint yourself with it.)

Glumness overtook. You knew you probably wouldn’t stay here for too long, no matter how much you liked it. You could fix up the house, flip it, and head off someplace else again in pursuit of something that probably didn’t exist.

It’s always been this way for you. The same old pattern, the same old story, the neverending book that looped in on itself over and over, caught in a wormhole where the exit was the entrance.

So it was easy to convince yourself to not get attached to the valley, nor the people, nor that damn sticks-on-bricks abode. Not even the grass filled with flowers and protected by tall trees you had already found yourself longing for.

It was easier this way. This was all you knew, after all.

You had it all figured out.

Didn't you?

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 5

Part 1 Part 4

Eddie’s filled a shitty back-to-school backpack with anything useful he can find. There’s more wet wipes, and gauze, antiseptic, and a hammer. He’s got a lighter, a few newspapers, and a few shitty plastic cups. In a fit of whimsy, he stuffs a pack of playing cards in there as well. 

They go.

Hawkins is bigger than he remembers. Eddie’s not sure if it’s just the fatigue, the general atmosphere of this place, or it’s just another fucked-up thing that’s just a little off about this place. Hawkins, but not.

And god, he didn’t ever think he’d be homesick for Hawkins. His trailer, sure. Wayne, of course. But Hawkins? No way.

But he’s pretty sure he’d give his left kidney to be walking down 2nd street with all its residences clutching their pearls and crossing the street to avoid him. 

The street stretches out before him unnaturally. It’s quiet. There’s ash in Harrington’s hair where he walks by his side. Eddie’s never felt more out of place in his life.

“Do you think we’ll make it back?” he whispers. It’s so quiet, it feels like his words bounce across the town, anyway.

Harrington’s gait stutters. It could be from his fucked up feet. Eddie doesn’t think so. His brows pinched, lips pursed, skin golden under its ashen sheen.

“Someone will have noticed us missing by now, right?” He doesn’t sound sure. Eddie can’t fathom why.

“It’s…Sunday, Right?” Eddie asks, not waiting for an answer before continuing, “I’m supposed to be at band practice. The guys will notice.”

Harrington nods, starts walking again. 

“What about you?” Eddie asks.

Harrington’s eyes are shifting back and forth like he’s watching the ghosts of the real world in this fucked up mirror dimension. Hell, maybe he can. 

“Nancy noticed,” he says, quiet enough that Eddie barely picks up on it. He’s looking down at his feet and he looks small. Unsure. Before he looks up at Eddie from the corner of his eye. “Right?”

Eddie looks at this guy he’s hated for years, this guys who Eddie’s sure didn’t even notice him enough to hate him back, and says the only thing he can, “Right.”

“She’s smart.”

“Wheeler seems like a baddess,” Eddie says, even though she doesn’t. It makes Harrington smile down at his borrowed shoes. 

Eddie reaches out, squeezing lightly at Harrington’s elbow in comfort before skipping a few steps ahead, feeling his ears burn red. Harrington jogs to catch back up. They walk in silence after that.

The walk down the winding path surrounding the quarry is harrowing. It’s long, sure, but the way the red sky is reflecting back off the water’s surface has his gut sinking into his boots and weighing his feet down. It doesn’t look promising.

It looks even less promising up close. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Eddie feels one second away from falling to his knees and begging to a deity he doesn’t believe in.

He pulls out one of the stupid plastic cups, toes of his boots dipping into the red water as he bends over the reservoir and fills the cup, handing it to Harrington. Might as well take advantage of his tagalong jock test dummy,, and all that. 

Harrington grabs it from him, staring down at it dubiously. He tips it sideways, eyeing the liquid speculatively as it pours out of the cup and onto the concrete at his feet. 

It’s hard to tell if it’s actually red, even watching it drip onto the ground. The light’s too fucked, but it’s at least transulscent. It’s not blood, or at least not only blood. Eddie’s more concerned about the ash mixed in, to be honest.

Harrington’s still staring down at the remains of his cup like he’s not sure what to do with it. 

“Don’t drink that,” Eddie says.

Harrington doesn’t reply, but he can feel him watching as Eddie digs through his bag, pulling out a drugstore T-shirt and the second cup. He snatches Harringtons cup from his fingers, puts the T-shirt overtop, and then puts the other cup on top of that, before flipping the cups quickly.

Some of the liquid splashes out as it pours into the second cup, but most of it makes it to its rightful destination. Eddie pulls the T-shirt away and eyes the cup. He pours it out again, humming in pleasure and there’s no ash floating in the puddle at his feet.

A glance in the original cup makes him gag. Harrington siddles up to peer over his shoulder at the congealed black sludge left at the bottom, smeared with ash and dirt.

“I’m glad I didn’t drink that,” Harrington says.

Eddie laughs, handing the remnants of the second cup back over to Harrington. The look in the other boy’s eyes tells Eddie he knows he’s the guinea pig in this arrangement, but he gamely takes a sip. Eddie holds his breath when Harrington makes a disgusted face, but when he doesn’t keel over and die, he takes another sip. 

“Tastes like shit,” Harrington says, downing the rest. 

When Eddie filters the next cup, he can’t help but agree. It tastes like too-strong coffee mixed with blood, and Eddie’s never liked coffee. 

“How’d you learn to do this?” Harrington asks as the squat next to each other, Eddie filtering water, and Harrington filling the water bottles they’d collected from Melvald’s.

“I didn’t,” Eddie says, wringing the T-shirt out. When Harrington scoffs, he continues. “I just read about it in a book one time, and thought maybe it’d work.”

Harrington snorts. It sounds like a pig. Eddie hates himself for finding it endearing.

“You’re such a nerd,” he says, nudging his shoulder into Eddie’s. From his crouched position, Eddie almost goes tumbling into the water, but Harrington snags his shoulder and yanks him abc, laughing all the while.

“Fuck off, man,” he says, but it lacks its usual heat. 

It’s hard to completely hate a guy who dragged you bodily out of a window and away from your untimely demise. It’s hard, but damn if Eddie’s not going to try.

They fill the water bottles. It takes longer than it should, as Eddie tries to find clean enough spot on the T-shirt to make filtering the water any more even possible, but they manage.

Eddie doesn’t put the soiled garment in his backpack before slinging it onto his shoulders. It’s heavier now, but something in him eases with the time they’ve gained with the water. Days of survival has now stretched out to weeks.

He thinks of that Thing again and wonders if that’s a good thing at all. With the way Harrington is grimacing as he slings his own pack onto his shoulders, he’s having similarly grim thoughts.

They both stare up at the steep path they’d come down, hours before.

“What now?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs, and starts trekking back up the hill. Without any better ideas, Eddie follows.

Part 6

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

I’m literally going feral over ur fierce deity fics I’ve been dehydrated for so long and these are like a tall glass of water

Could I pretty please with a cherry on top request a Fierce Deity x reader where Like theyre Just hanging out together and fierce is just really gently putting flowers in the readers hair and they’re watching the sunset together and fierce just thinks the reader is really pretty while they’re yapping about their day

THANK YOU SO MUCH IN ADVANCE IF YOU DO DECIDE TO DO THIS BUT YOU DONT HAVE TO <333

CONSIDER IT WRITTEN. Fierce Deity is literally my weakness, so I'm ecstatic more people love him!

Braided Daisies

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): Tooth-rotting fluff and philosophical discussions that probably shouldn't be read before one's morning coffee.

Masterlist

There was a clearing a mile's walk from your house. It was small and quiet, filled to the brim with tall, swaying grass. In early spring, a myriad of flowers bloomed among the vegetation, as if sprinkled by the gods themselves. But its best feature was by far its proximity to a staggering, craggy cliff, and the accompanying view that followed for anyone lucky enough to stumble upon it.

"—And THEN I told him I don't make the rules around here, but nooo," you ranted to the Fierce Deity from your sprawled position on the grass. You had originally intended to come here alone, but it seemed you had an adventurer in your midst. That, and the fact that it was becoming increasingly hard to refute him when he looked at you with such... care? Want? You weren't quite sure, but from the looks the other boys would shoot him, you assumed it was deep. "—of course I look rich enough to be the owner... in my work uniform!"

"That is... unfortunate," mused the deity, looking almost offended. When his gaze turned menacing, you realized you probably shouldn't have shared your troubles with a literal guard dog of a god. "If you require assistance—"

"Nope, nope, nope," you waved your hands frantically. "I am not dealing with you mauling someone."

The put-off expression on his face would have made you cackle if you hadn't known his offer was very much real. "Shame."

Shame?!

"I'll stop baking if you kill someone," you leveraged, holding back the urge to laugh when his expression turned to one of abject horror, then what you could only assume was his version of a pouty face. "Don't look at me like that, I will do it."

There was silence as you held his gaze, setting your jaw in what you hoped was a stern expression. Miraculously, Fierce was the first to break eye contact, leaning back on his arms with a deep sigh. "You are brave," he said, and there was something soft in his tone that you couldn't place for the life of you. "Have you always been this way?"

It was such a him question, yet you had to stop and process why in the world the Fierce Deity wanted to know something so mundane about you, a mere mortal. It couldn't have been genuine curiosity... but there was no other explanation. "I... maybe? It depends on your definition of bravery, I guess."

"And what is yours?" He was getting closer, practically casting a shadow over you. A callused hand drew forward, capturing a strand of your hair, rubbing softly, and the notion that he was feeling your hair threw you for the greatest loop of your life.

"Bravery is..." you trailed off, averting your eyes. What was bravery? To say one had bravery meant they had a strong character... some could even say a heroic one, but it felt too simple an answer to give to such a being, especially when he gazed down at you with a warmth you hadn't felt in a long time. Not even the burning tangerine of the horizon—smattered with flashes of gold and honeysuckle— could ignite your skin in the way his eyes could. "...immediate."

Impossibly, the deity leaned closer, tone expectant. "Immediate?"

Fuck, he was practically on top of you. "I-It's not like courage, because that comes slow and is more moral based, but..." you gulped. "I guess bravery is what happens in the moment, as in the choices you make when there's no time to make them."

"I see," rumbled Fierce as he withdrew, resuming his cross-legged position next to you. As if on instinct, you raised yourself onto your elbows and huffed.

"Why do you even want to know?" you questioned, emboldened by the falling sun. "You're a god and I'm just... human. I'm sure there's a million more interesting things out there."

"You speak as though my curiosity is an insult," intoned the deity, gaze fixed on the bleeding horizon. "I can assure you, it is not."

And that was all there was to it, really. You knew the topic had died as soon as he fell silent, though it didn't mean you were giving up just yet. You reached out, picked a nearby daisy, and offered it to him. "Can you braid?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said you wanted to discover," you defended lightly, even though there was no need to. "Hair braiding is easy when you get the hang of it, but it's a lot easier to learn using someone else's hair."

A beat passed, and you thought for sure he was going to reject the idea. That is, until his hand twitched up to take the flower, examining it with keen eyes. You took it as an invitation to scoot closer—already parting your hair in preparation—until your legs brushed his own and your chests were nary two feet apart. "Okay," you relinquished the flower and put the head at the top of the braid. "You're going to want to cover it with one section like so, then keep braiding like you normally would without letting the stem fall, capiche?" You held up the half finished braid for inspection, eventually pulling it apart and offering him the flow. "Now you try!"

There was determination in the Fierce Deity's eyes as he relinquished the flower and did as instructed: laying the head at the top of the brain and incorporating it with every cross and pull. His touch was so gentle you could have mistaken it for the wind pulling your hair, and you wondered it he feared anything harder than featherlight pressure would shatter you, though that was most certainly not the case. Before you knew it, he had reached the bottom of the strands, and was merely holding it as to not fall apart. You took that as a cue to snap a hair tie on that sucker and shoot him a happy grin. "It looks great, awesome job!"

But the Fierce Deity remained silent, simply gazing at you with eyes softer than silk before rising to his feet. You tilted your head in confusion, about to ask where he was going, when he bent down, plucked another daisy from the earth, and plopped down behind you. "What are you—"

A heavy hand laid itself on your shoulder, applying gentle, firm pressure as the deity's voice rumbled in your ear. "Be still, I am only using the skills you have shown me."

And, without preamble, he sectioned your hair like a pro and began to braid while you sort of just sat there, questioning everything that had lead up to this point. He was so close that you could feel the press of his muscled abdomen against your very unmuscled back, and it was doing unspeakable things to the beating organ in your chest. A sort of choked gasp left your lips when he reached down to capture your wrist before pulling a hair tie from it, but you forced yourself into silence—he seemed to enjoy it, so who were you to deny him—?

"Have I upset you?" Came Fierce's voice, clear as day. His actions with your hair halted, and you nearly morned the loss of his body heat when he pulled away.

"I— what?" How in the world could he have upset you? There was simply no way.

"You are quiet," answered the deity, as if it made perfect sense. "I ask again: have I upset you?"

"No?" You could hardly comprehend how he came to such a conclusion, but you would do everything in your power to rectify whatever misunderstanding he was living under. "How does that have anything to do with me being upset?"

"You talk when you are happy," and he noticed?? Did he think you were upset because you weren't rambling?

"Well, yes," dear lord, he was too precious. "But I can be happy in silence, too."

"Ah," you felt a wave of relief when his hands fell on the braid again, lifting it for what you could only guess was inspection. "I had assumed you disliked quiet."

"Funny, because I thought the same."

"Then it appears we both assumed wrong," stated the deity, and you couldn't have agreed more.

The fading light was filled with laugher as you regaled him with more stories from work, throwing in a few embarrassing childhood ones when things became dry. During this, Fierce fitted two more braids into your hair, each with a different flower. You could hardly wait to look in the mirror when you arrived home, an idea that seemed less and less pleasant as your conversation dragged on.

When the sun was all but a speck in a sea of navy, you reluctantly started the trek back, noting how insignificant the darkness seemed when you had Fierce by your side, expression attentive as he listened to you talk about nothing in particular. It puzzled you how he seemed to hang off of every word, but you assumed it was merely loneliness. Had it been lighter outside, or your attention sharper, you would have noticed the crimson flush painting his cheeks a deeper red than the very horizon.

The plot got away from me a bit, but I still think it turned out great. Hope y'all enjoyed!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Tergrid, God of Fright

"Terror is the natural state of a child, they know they are small, vunrable, glass fragile. It is only once we grow that we delude ourselves into thinking we are safe, that we are strong, that we have control over the world we live in. Show a grown man how little control he really has, and you will see the child he always was: pissreeking, repentant, and pleading for his mother. " - Gerheart, village executioner

A goddess for those who hold close to the light dreading the unknown or those who wander gleefully into the dark seeking it, Tergrid is a deity of imagined horrors and terrible omens.

Depicted as a young woman always bearing a lantern, myths speak of Tergrid's shadow as a monstrous, murderous thing with a will of its own. Unable to kill the goddess due to the light she carries, it vents it's directionless wrath on those who linger beyond the lantern's glow. This duality, as both as the victim of fear and the source of it defines the brightmaiden's worship; as she is both threat and saviour to those who draw her attention.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive at a country roadhouse at dusk, only to find the inhabitants have nailed shut every door and shutter as if preparing for a siege. They say some horrid murderous things are lurking just off the road, and as the light wanes they refuse to let the heroes inside. The roadhouse's residents are terrified and are willing to fight to keep the party out, half convinced the party are themselves the things they should be afraid of... which isn't to say there ISN'T anything else waiting for that door to open. After negoitating their way inside (or forcing the issue) the heroes discover the roadhouse residents were warned of the danger by a mysterious woman who passed through earlier, though none can remember exactly what she looked like.

A knight renowned for his fearless deeds wanders the street in a waking nightmare, seeing threats everywhere and lashing out at phantoms and passersby. Even after being subdued it’s clear he won’t awake, and many suspect interference from jealous rivals in the upcoming tourney. The knight’s meek squire asks the party to help investigate the causes and possible cures of her master’s madness, never suspecting that her suppressed resentment at his recklessness might’ve manifested as a curse.

In desperate need of answers, the party consults an oracle dedicated to Tergrid who has them undergo trials of fear and phantasm so that they might know the truth. Chiefest among these is battling in a dark cave full of shadow monsters, while flickering visions of the future are cast on the wall by the guttering lantern light. The longer they can endure, the more they will know, but that isn't likely to be long unless they fight harder than they ever have before.

Inspiration: Tergrid is a shameless lift from Magic the Gathering's Kaldheim setting, which I've never played but apparently keep returning to as a consistent well of inspiration.

Fear both as a mechanic and motif is something I think is underutilized in D&D which is odd considering it's a game about venturing out into the unknown to face potentially deadly challenges. Fear and risk are what our heroes must endure to experience the wonder and rewards on the other side of their journey. As such it makes sense for a goddess of fear to play a role in the thematic weave of the stories we end up telling.

Speaking in less lofty terms, I also think using the lantern as a symbol for being frightened fucks hard. It's a tiny, fragile, and temporary respite from an ocean of darkness and the threats it contains.

Worshippers: The lost and abandoned, Unseele Fey, Shadowcasters and other denizens of the shadowfell. There is also heavy overlap with the worship of the night goddess Nyx.

Signs: Nightmares, unnatural or living shadows,

Symbols: A Lantern, often surrounded by a circle of darkness.

Artsource

[midnightlazule]

{NSFW} Teratophilia [Katakuri x AFAB!reader] (Mythology AU / 2023 KT)

Summary | Being followed by a dangerous man, and offering your virginity for protection, you meet a mysterious deity that wishes you to be his wife.

CW | AFAB reader / she/her pronouns / mentions of death / loss of virginity / first time / monster fucking fic / p in v sex / size difference / marking / double penetration

Katakuri x female reader / third person POV / implications of death / mentions of virginity / first time / mentions of snakes / smut

It was dark, far too dark for your liking as you walked home, clutching your dress in your hands. It had been a long day out in the fields, pushing along sheep and harvesting all of the ready crops, you had decided to take a nap under one of the many trees that spotted the fields.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed until you woke up, being met with no sheep, and no daylight. The walk through the field was a long one, with the threat of coyotes you were already on edge. The shepherd dogs would be far gone by now, with the sheep that were probably on the other side of the field.

Trying to keep your anxiety under control, you walked through the barren streets of the town you lived in. Not at all appreciating how long it took to get to your house, regardless of the dim lights that spotted the streets, you still felt heavily unsafe. It was so much better in the mornings, not having to worry about dark alleyways that swirled with inky black abysses, or the fear inducing footsteps you heard not too far behind you.

Your heart stopped in that moment, realizing that the footsteps you were hearing were in fact there, and very very real. It wasn't a trick of your ears, nor your anxiety. You could hear their shoes hitting the ground, a small clank of something metal followed right after, could it be a weapon?

Continuing on the path, albeit a little faster now, you tried to keep your breathing leveled. Fear gripping at your heart, and you were no longer worried about the monstrous things that could be lurking in the alleyways.

The sound of the footsteps grew a little more rapid, meaning they had also picked up the pace. You had hoped that maybe it was another random townsperson that was out for a walk, maybe someone who would depart on their own separate path. But those hopes were quickly tossed away when they kept on your tail. You tried to take a few sudden turns, but to no avail.

Suddenly, whoever it was, came running at you. Kicking up dirt you scrambled to get out of the way, their hand narrowly missing your hair by mere inches. They fell back and hit the nearest building with a grunt, knocking over some pottery and causing a commotion.

You used this moment to turn tail and run as fast as you could, sandals digging into the ground as you cried out in fear. Your eyes were wide, tears threatened to spill. The uneven grounds paid no mercy to you, almost twisting your ankle as you tried to get away. Dread settled stronger in your stomach as the lights had vanished, you had taken a road that didn't lead where your home resided.

It was too late to try and go back, you could hear your pursuer catching up.

The wind had picked up, causing your hair to slip out of its restraints, getting in your eyes and mouth you sputtered. The momentary blindness cause you to run and trip onto something hard, a yell of surprise and pain sounded as you hit your head on the rough pavement below you. Scrambling to your feet, you ignored the dull pain in the side of your head and shins.

You had made your way to one of the few unkept temples that littered the area, seeking refuge inside you quickly hid yourself behind one of the far back pillars. The footsteps of whoever was following you echoed as their shoes hit the pavement.

Placing your hands over your mouth, you tried to calm your breathing, trying to stay as quiet as possible in order to keep yourself hidden. Multiple prayers of protection echoed in your head as you asked whatever deity that resided in this temple to help you, promising your forever gratitude and worship.

Tears were streaming down your face, the prayers weren't working. Growing more desperate as the footsteps grew closer, you chose to offer the one thing you had that you knew would entice any deity.

Your virginity.

A loud boom of thunder roared as you made this prayer, the temple itself shook from the sheer pressure. Soon another presence made itself known, the tall and large man was covered in shadows, but his crimson eyes glowed with fury.

Your ears popped from the pressure this being exhibited, having to press your hands to your ears, you curled up into a ball and shut your eyes as hard as you could. The winds grew harsher, and you swore you could've felt something slithering over your feet and legs.

The sound of screaming prompted you to curl yourself up even tighter, tears left your eyes in stream and your body shook with fear.

But just like that, it had ended.

The pressure was gone, the screams had stopped, and the wind died down. You shook as you got to your feet, sniffling. Looking around cautiously, you didn't see a single soul. The man who was following you was gone, and the being who had appeared vanished.

With shaking hands, you laid them atop the stone altar that was in the back middle of the temple, giving a soft thank you before limping out of the temple. The night seemed more calmer now, almost as if you were promised a safe walk home.

You had completely missed the mangled body that sat off to the side of the temple, covered in slithering snakes that watched as you left.

----

A few weeks had passed after your terrifying encounter, you had begun to feel safer, almost as if you had an angel with you at all times, protecting you. During the days when you had time, you brought freshly baked goods, a pitcher of water, and dried herbs to the temple where you were saved.

You still didn't know what deity had previously been worshipped in the temple, there were no pictures, no symbols. It was a plain temple with beautiful pillars and a stone altar that had beautiful engravings on it. Though the engravings were just fancy designs, you had noticed the imagery of snakes hidden within them.

Leaving offerings and gifts became a frequent occurrence, even going as far as to bringing your dinner with you to share with the mystery deity. You had begun to enjoy doing such things, it wasn't repetitive like taking care of sheep and harvesting crops was.

Sure you weren't accompanied by anyone, and no one showed up, but the reminder that someone was there for you regardless of what you had offered, was still a pleasant thing. You had been rather lonely inside this town, refusing to marry any of the men that asked for your hand in marriage.

None of them were the right ones, and you wished for true love. Your parents weren't happy with this fact, kicking you out you've learned to live by yourself until the age of 23. You've been happy ever since, no longer having them nag you about finding a lover, and that true love was overrated.

Pretty soon, weeks turned into months, and you found yourself cleaning up the temple in your free time. Cleaning out all of the cobwebs, scrubbing the dark stains on the floors to the best of your ability. You even removed all the vines that grew on the outside, which was a challenge.

You had to use a very heavy, long stick to attempt to pull the majority of them off since you didn't have a ladder.

One thing you did figure out was the crazy snake infestation the temple had, finding at least three snakes a day, you gently picked them up and shooed them out. Stating that it wasn't a place for them, and that they'd have to find a new home.

One snake in particular you found would constantly pop up.

It had dazzling crimson eyes, much like the ones you saw on the mysterious deity that had saved you. The markings on its scales were a pretty cerise color, shining beautifully in the light. Its teeth were strange, having four teeth instead of two, all of them protruded from its mouth, sitting outside of its mouth instead of curling inside like how they naturally were supposed to.

No matter how many times you tried to get rid of it, it would pop back up, almost as if the temple were its home. You had grown tired of trying to shoo the poor thing out, and instead ended up making a cozy little area for it.

You often ended up complimenting it on its beautiful scales, even though you knew it didn't understand you. You had gone far enough to run your fingers along its scales as it passed by you. It had looked back at you, its eyes watching you before continuing on.

Not once had you imagined that snake would've been anything more than a normal snake with a few peculiar defects.

----

A year had passed, and you continued to show up, you were going to be turning 26. Your visits to the temple continued, and your conversations with the snake grew more frequent, opting to talk to something that couldn't respond rather than anyone in your town.

It was nice, despite your company being nothing more than a snake, you had grown to appreciate its presence. You had even begun picking it up, letting it coil around your arm. It always looked so comfortable as it sat there, eyes watching you as you lazed about.

One thing you had never done was given it a name, always referring to it as 'snake'. You weren't the best when it came to naming things, never had been.

The day of your birthday was an interesting one, everything seemed to be going right for you. The sheep actually listened, the crops were harvested with ease, and the wind didn't torment you on your trek back.

Even the prices at the markets were surprisingly low, you would've assumed that the townspeople lowered them since it was your birthday, but knew it was far fetched. They all thought you were strange, even going as far as to call you a witch with how often you visited the temples.

Returning home with your ingredients, you got started on making your cake.

---

The hour was late when you finished making your cake, taking slices of it to the temple. You laid a plate down on the stone altar, putting your hands together you gave your thanks to the deity once again.

A deep rumble startled you from your prayer, the familiar pressure circled you, its feeling almost suffocating. Turning around, your eyes met with the deity you had seen a year ago, the same one that had saved you.

It stared down at you, crimson eyes narrowed, his face was partially covered. Your eyes traveled down from his face, to his torso, and further down. It was then you realized his lower half was that of a snake, those brilliant cerise scales shone in the firelight that lit up the temple.

It finally clicked with you, that he was the snake you had befriended, the same one you had built a makeshift bed for. Suddenly you felt embarrassed that you had given such a poorly made gift to a deity.

Without saying a word, he approached you, scales slithered quietly over the rough pavement. His eyes never left yours, lowering himself down to your height, he leveled his face with yours. Taking a few steps back, you almost fell back on the stone altar, catching yourself, you flinched as you felt your hand connect with something squishy, and slightly wet.

It smeared under your hand, getting in between your fingers. You looked down and felt the blood leave your body, you had smushed the piece of cake you were giving as offering to the very deity standing before you.

"I-i'm sorry" you squeaked, far too afraid to do anything.

His eyes flickered from your face, down to your hand. Bringing a hand up to his face he removed the large piece of cloth that covered his face. He reached forward, grabbing your arm that was so much smaller than him in comparison.

You closed your eyes, expecting the worse as he brought your cake smeared hand up to his mouth. Feeling something wet in-between your fingers you peeked at the man, face burning a bright red when you realized he was licking and sucking the cake off of each digit.

The blush only worsened when you felt a flash of heat travel down to your core, not expecting to get turned on by such things you covered your mouth with your free hand and looked away.

"Are you not scared?" a deep, smooth voice asked.

You looked over at him, still covering your mouth. He had let go of your hand, now clean from any cake residue. "Scared..?" you asked, "yes, do my features not instill fear into you?" he clarified.

"No? I mean, not really?" you said, though it sounded more like a question. "I.. I've seen you every day, even though I didn't know that it was you, I mean.. at first it was strange since I've never seen a snake that looked like that before, but I got over it, it's really just normal now-" you stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling on about the topic.

"I think you look fine" you squeaked out, feeling ready to faint from the intense gaze he was giving you. A thoughtful hum reverberated in his throat, "it is your birthday today, yes?" he eyed the cake that was smashed on his altar.

"I- yes.. it is" you said quietly, "Uhm.. y-you can have my piece" you quickly grabbed the other piece of cake that was sitting off to the side, offering it up to him. "I know it's not much given you're uh... size but.. I hope you enjoy" You were looking away from him as you offered it, too afraid that he might smack it out of your hands and devour you right there.

A gust of wind was felt, opening an eye you looked over and nearly dropped the plate you were holding. The man was now fully human, despite the scales that still covered parts of his body, and his teeth.

You looked in amazement, eyes traveling down his body you had to prevent yourself from coughing when you saw he had absolutely nothing on to cover his groin. Heat rushed to your face, he was definitely well endowed.

Feeling the plate being taken from your hands, you placed them back to your sides. "It's delicious" he hummed, "I don't think I ever thank you for the food you often brought" he murmured, your heart almost jumped to your throat at that.

"Y-you shouldn't be thanking me it was just- I was just-" you failed to find the words, suddenly feeling bad that a deity, a literal god, was talking about how he failed to give thanks. "It had been a long time since I had someone visit, you were a breath of fresh air, so you deserve my thanks" he lowered his head in gratitude.

You felt uncomfortable with his display of thanks, feeling like you didn't quite deserve it. You bowed your head in respects regardless. "Y-you're welcome" you stammered, "Um... I don't think I ever got your name?" you said, realizing that you not once had been able to figure out the name of the deity that had been worshiped here.

"Katakuri" he spoke, "but you can refer to me with whatever you please" he almost purred. He had finished the cake, setting the plate down he took a few steps up towards you. His eyes shone with something you couldn't quite make out.

His face was mere inches from yours, you could feel his breath on your lips. It smelt of the cake he had just eaten, along with something more metallic.. blood? Had he accidentally cut something on his teeth? They did look rather sharp.

Reaching up without thinking, you placed your hands on his cheeks, and traced your fingers over his fangs. Trying to be careful as to not accidently nick yourself. Katakuri's breathing seemed to deepen at the feeling of your hands on him, his eyes flickering from your eyes down to your lips.

You wondered how it would feel to have him kiss you, would the fangs hurt you? would they somehow retract? You wished to find out.

As if hearing your thoughts, Katakuri slowly lowered his face to yours, having to keep his neck at an awkward angle to accommodate your small height. Your lips touched his, and it felt as if sparks had ignited, kissing him felt.. right as if it were something meant to happen.

Katakuris hands grabbed ahold of your hips, holding you in place as the kiss grew rougher. You felt that same heat from earlier explode throughout your body, running through your veins and causing your breath to quicken.

A moan sounded from your throat, feeling his hands dig into your hips he lifted you onto the altar, siting you down on it. Neither of you broke the kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, and he pushed your back down onto the altar, crawling on top of you.

Your legs lay spread, sitting on each of his thighs. The one thing keeping you parted was your dress which covered your clothed womanhood. Placing his hands on either side of your head, he broke the kiss.

"Are you sure about this?" he looked down at you, he might've been a deity, capable of all sorts of horrible things, but he still had morals. You nodded, feeling more sure than ever that this was what you wanted, the spark of lust that ignited between the two of you was something you'd never felt before.

His hands left the side of your face, grabbing hold of your dress he shoved it over your hips. A groan left his throat at the sight of your soaked panties, the beautiful smell of your cunt was more enticing than ever before.

He had waited, waited until he was sure that it was the right moment, to finally take the very thing you had offered to him for protection. But he felt greed overtake him, the thought of having you forever, as his wife, enticed him.

You were beautiful, and much deserving of a spot in his domain, where he could make you his lover, his child-bearer. Suddenly, the thought of pumping you full of his seed, seeing you with a large belly filled with his offspring left him impatient.

He had to fill you, right here, right now.

A startled yelp fell from your lips as he ripped off your panties, grabbing hold of your thighs he ducked his head down and licked a clean stripe up your sopping cunt. Your back arched off of the altar, mouth agape as you felt something entirely new.

His tongue worked wonders against you, it was much longer than an average humans, diving deep inside of your hole. Your nails scraped at the stone beneath you, legs threatening to clamp over his head if he didn't keep them still. You were speaking incoherent words as he tasted you.

It seemed he couldn't wait any longer, licking his face clean of your juices, he pumped himself a few times before grinding his erect, warm cock against your slick cunt. You shuddered at the feeling of his cock rubbing against your clit, stimulating it in such a way that left your toes curling.

Slowly inserting his tip, he pushed in, trying to be mindful that you needed time to adjust to his large size. A light sheen of sweat covered the both of your bodies, the sound of heavy breathing bounced off the walls. A gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pushing inside, the almost foreign feeling of it had you eager for more.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pushed him forwards, a heavy feeling of need swirled in your abdomen, bringing about a sinful part of you. Moaning out at the feeling of his large girth finally fitting inside of you, you couldn't help but admire the bulge in your stomach.

Katakuri growled, hands placing your legs on either side of his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around your knees. Keeping them straightened, he started thrusting into you, groaning and tilting his head back from the pleasure of it all. Your own noises sounded like angels singing, the beautiful moans that left your plush lips enticed him to go faster, to fuck you even deeper.

Finding that this position was just not working for him, he quickly lowered your legs, lifting you with his strength he placed your chest against his. Grabbing at your hips, he started thrusting upwards into you, watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, he let out a slew of curses.

You felt so good fluttering and clenching around him like that, the way your cunt leaked juices all over his cock and balls was one of the greatest delights he'd ever had. His thrusting became more animalistic, fingers digging into your hips, and balls slapping against you with each thrust.

"H-hnng- K-kata!" you moaned, using the nickname by accident. Katakuri however didn't mind, fuck he loved the way you called his name, shortened or not.

You laid your head against his shoulder, mouth drooling all over his collarbone. You ran your tongue against his salty skin and had the sudden idea to bite down. A deep, guttural groan sounded deep from his throat as you sunk your teeth into his skin. Hips stuttering, he thrusted up into you as far as he could go, finally releasing his cum inside of you.

Removing your teeth from his skin, you looked up at him "sorry" was all you had to say, smiling sheepishly at him. Katakuri breathed heavily, watching you with lidded eyes he lifted you off of his cock, setting you down. "Face the altar" he commanded, and you obliged, feeling a little bit of fear swirl in your chest.

He grabbed his make-shift scarf from the ground, and set it on the altar, making a makeshift pillow of sorts. Grabbing the back of your neck, he pushed you down onto the altar, keeping your ass in the air he ran a hand over one of your soft ass cheeks.

A groan sounded from your throat as he brought his hand down, a 'SMACK' echoed throughout the temple, and a stinging feeling sent shivers up your spine. Your back had arched a little farther upon feeling this, much to Katakuri's pleasure. "Look at you, dirty little sinner" he hissed, rubbing his hand over the red mark adorning your ass cheek.

You said nothing as he brought his hand down once again, the sting causing you to clench around nothing. You could feel your own juices mixed with Katakuri's running down your legs.

Another gust of wind was felt, though this time, Katakuri placed his hand on your head, keeping you from moving. You felt the strange, smooth texture of his scales against your legs, knowing very well that he changed back to his original form. You weren't scared, instead you felt a strange sense of need pool to your core, the thought of being fucked by him while in his half snake form was exhilarating.

He knelt down, leaving soft kisses along your back, being mindful of his teeth. You shivered against his touch, feeling his cock press against one of your ass cheeks. It felt different, heavier, with a ribbed, larger base.

"My love.." Katakuri groaned, grinding against you, "before I begin, I must know if you're okay with this" he asked, fingers lightly digging into your sides as he held himself back. "With you in your uh.. snake form?" You didn't quite know what to call it. He chuckled, "no, no I am aware you're alright with it, I mean breeding you" he said almost matter-of-factly.

Your face flushed at the idea, "you mean having your.. kids? Would that even be y'know.. possible?" you questioned, "You're a deity and I am a mortal" you added, looking back at him with a confused stare. "Yes, but if I breed you, you become my mate for life, we will be forever bound to each other" he pondered for a moment, "that means you will take on ruling my domain with me, you will be my queen, a deity of sorts."

"I must know if you're okay with it, you have already completed your end of the deal, it is my own selfish reasons that I am asking you this" he breathed, placing another kiss on your back. You thought about it for a moment, it wasn't as if you'd be leaving very much behind...

Your parents no longer wished to see you, the townsfolk thought of you as some witch, and you disliked the heavy work you had to do each day. "I'm okay with it" you said softly, looking back at Kataukri the best you could with loving eyes.

He seemed to beam with happiness at this, eyes lighting up. Dragging his fingers across your back, he drew some kind of symbol with his fingers, feeling the light sting of something pricking your back you hissed.

"Sorry, my love" he ran his tongue over the wound, licking up the small bubbles of blood that had formed on your skin. Sliding his hands away from your back, he rested them on your hips, lifting you a bit off of the altar.

Giving no warning, he thrusted inside of you. It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs, feeling two cocks inside of you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, not expecting the sudden intrusion of two cocks filling both your holes. His ribbed shaft allowed for even more pleasure each time he thrusted into you, the wet noise of him filling you echoing around the temple. Digging your fingers into the side of the altar, you cared not for any broken nails as you cried out in pure ecstasy.

The symbol Katakuri had drawn on your back began to slightly burn, going un-noticed by you, you continued to enjoy the the feeling of Kata stuffing you full. His grunts and moans intermingled with yours as they bounced off of the temple walls.

Katakuri leaned forward, pushing his hips into yours he rutted deep inside of you. Leaving kisses along your shoulder blades, he watched as tears of pleasure streamed from your face. "Just a little longer my love... Just a little longer until I fill you with my seed, you will bare such beautiful children" Kata groaned, body trembling as he worked himself closer and closer to release.

He could feel you tightening against him, knowing you were close as well, he wished to try and cum together. Blood smeared over his stomach and chest as he laid against you, the faint metallic scent of it cause his mouth to water.

"So sorry my dear.." Katakuri apologized before digging his sharp fangs into your shoulder. You screamed out, a mixture of pain and pleasure in your voice. An apologetic rumble thrummed in his throat, truly feeling bad. He just couldn't help himself.

Digging his teeth into you seemed to be the one thing that rushed you towards release, feeling the way your cunt and ass clenched and throbbed around him. It caused his own orgasm to hit its peak, giving a couple more strong thrusts he released your shoulder and moaned out, cumming deep inside of both your holes.

His vision nearly went black, slumping against you he kept himself deep inside, determined to not allow you to leak even a drop. The both of you breathed heavily, Kata looked at the bitemark on your shoulder and felt guilt swirl in his stomach.

Dragging his tongue at the bitemarks, he rubbed your side soothingly, feeling you flinch in pain with every lap of his tongue. Leaving a kiss on the middle of your back, he pulled away from you.

He was about to begin cleaning up, until he heard the nearby yells of the townsfolk that lived near his temple. Had they heard your scream?

Cleaning up the temple was no longer a choice, grabbing you and his scarf he looked around one last time before vanishing in a plume of smoke. The only evidence of you being there was your torn dress, the empty plate, and the discarded piece of smeared cake sitting on the far side of the altar.

A dozen of townsfolk approached the temple, weapons in hand as they slowly made their way inside. It was lit up by lanterns, and in the back lay your tattered dress.

[the-moon-files]

The Chain being Down Bad🐕‍🦺™️ for Your Voice lol (Masc!Reader)

(Content under ✄----- )

@peepthatbish once again, our lovely muse peep (name twins!!) Has come to bless me, and hopefully i did that gorgeous idea justice, and dw im not done writing them all out yet :)

<333

Sun: Masculine Reader (he/him)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: a dash of everybody <3

(except rare ones like Fierce/Koridai/Courage/Sage/etc.)

☆

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: fluff & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if i missed any. /gen

Ok but like

Ur voice is absolutely iconic to them

(Like the fairy fountain theme or the appearance of the Master sword, its unimaginable to them for your to not sound like that)

And its not only the heroes of Hyrule, but anyone else who could hear you

Well it helps that it used to be ur only sort of external sign of presence to outsiders

(the Links could also somewhat "feel" you in their own chests sometimes, like when u were stressed over a boss, or sad over a cutscene)

The only others who usually hear you are mostly things like the Great Fairies, the Deku Tree, other weird ass beings that know way too much (Fierce Deity)

So needless to say, when u first crash landed thru a portal into Wild's Hyrule (ur latest Zelda game you've played u guess thats why)

And the Chain had seen u in the distance, met up with you to try and help what they thought was some poor guy who accidentally fell thru Hylia's portals

But as they heard u stutter thru an introduction, instead they knew immediately it was you

Sky and Twi seriously teared up, Hyrule/Wild/Four/Wind all attacked you with a hug and excited shrieking, Legend and Wars were just gaping in shock, and Time was just staring at you

It took you a minute to pinpoint who was from what game, but as soon as you figured it out u literally jaw dropped at Time/Wild/Twi/etc.

(The ones that look different from their in game model or way better irl than graphics could ever capture)

U also may have screamed. A very manly scream. Not high pitched at all. You didnt make Legend cover his ears or the four that tackled u scramble off in fear, what- haha

(U cant blame urself, u were in literal shock, bc that's ALL the LINKS??!! Like u needed a shock blanket like rescue/ambulances gives ppl)

After calming down, it wasnt even an outright discussion or decision u could rlly choose,

They were basically kidnapping u along for the ride, also u were there for them (in pretty voice alone but still) for all their adventures,

So u even suggesting leaving u behind bc u couldnt keep up as well as them had them looking at you like they never even considered it

(And also making them individually go thru the 5 stages of grief: 😨😟😡😭🥺🙏🙏 they were all outright begging u, in their own ways, deadass by the end of it)

So as u travel, you get to understand the full impact of Your Voice, or the Guide's Voice™️.

If anyone has a nightmare, what would normally take another hero poking them with a stick and dodging the reflex punch, or them waking up unable to go back to sleep after having the nightmare, etc.

U quickly realized only took you talking to comfort them, with no reflex punch when they woke up, if they woke up, sometimes u were so good at it the nightmare just cleared ended according to their face

In your first battle against the shadow, along with lots of black-blooded monsters, u realized how much more confidently every Link fought as soon as you were speaking from behind them

They got even better and less stressed abt fighting when u managed to crack a few jokes or go toe to toe verbally with the Shadow lol

Legend outright guffawed when you pulled a dumb "sigh... well i guess... maybe... ur mom." joke in response to his villain monologue, like wiping a tear and everything, saying "u used to say that all the time after dumb long evil speeches, its a fucking classic" 💀

Literally will have them asking you to make more jokes bc it makes them feel better in tense situations/battles (most to least frequently: Sky, Wild, Hyrule, Wind, Twi, Time, Wars, Legend, Four) but they love it equally

Okay but,

U have Definitely. Sent chills down their spines when u get into lower ranges lol

U dont understand why everyone needs to talk to you so bad first thing in the morning,

or alternatively why they keep wanting you to go on a rant abt ur fav book/tv show/thing either???

U are always the last for story time at the campfire every night, and unlike the others, they refuse to let you take a night off, u have to say smth every night??

It amazes u they like ur voice so much, huh, Wild/Twi/Wars/Four/Hyrule must all be getting a little too close to the fire, theyre faces are looking a little red/pink

(Legend and Time just look rlly pleased/happy to be here, they only ever look a little overheated when u specifically look at them while ur talking/or tell a story abt them, and they usually are always the ones asking u another question to prompt u to keep going forever)

Wars may or may not have a life changing moment he told u abt ur voice on his adventures where Cia was like, "Ah Link... let me get a good look at you..."

Link: 😰🤢🥲

You: "... and girl, I am only looking at your tiddies right now."

If Wars had smth to drink right then he wouldve spit-taked.

It was like the one time he was caught so genuinely off-guard, and u just made him suddenly feel 10x more comfortable facing her, he literally couldnt keep his knight trained composure together, he had to lean on his knees he was crying with laughter

That was the first Cia heard of you too and she literally audibly gasped lmao

It was like all of a sudden Wars and Cia had been in on a joke no one else could hear around them (Shiek/Zelda is confused to this day by that)

And there are countless moments like this from each of their adventures where u did this, u cant help but feel mildly embarassed when u hear it at first

But then seeing how much ur voice and comments meant to them and how happy it made them u can help but want to talk more and more and more

Youve never felt more comfortable talking to this many people in ur entire life,

Bc u can literally see their elf ears twitching cutely when they pick up ur voice

BEST BELIEEEVVEEEE

u arent getting out of singing to them.

Yeah, sorry, theyve heard u sing ur fav songs while gaming too many times, they need to hear u sing irl, Now.

Most of them ignore or sort of passively enjoy bards/musicians on their journeys, but as soon as u so much as hum-

Its like they're all clambering to get closer to hear u, but also not make u aware thats what theyre doing, so they end up just:

Four/Legend/Hyrule trying to hide behind various (upside down) books, behind plants that're not that bushy, or one memorable time, when u sang "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" quietly to urself, a bard's tune got close and reminded u of it,

and Four fully threw his hammer on his toes bc he was so shocked/lovestruck, he completely missed the anvil and just threw it at the ground/his feet LMAO

Time and Wars, cheeky strategists they are, immediately fall back behind u wherever u are, so u cant see them, but they can still hear u lol

(Theyre the only ones youve not caught actively listening/straining to come closer to hear u... bc theyre behind u lol)

Wild/Sky/Twi all fully whip their heads around fast enough to crack it, then clumsily try to recover so u wont stop

Wild/Sky just fully accidentally like fall into lakes/ponds trying to stay just out of range or even (they both tried it once, and never again after u got onto them) got on a rooftop

And fell. When u got quieter they tried to get closer and- yep.

(Idiots were fine and smiling when u came to check on them)

Twilight.

Twilight's the worst ngl.

Just fully stares in awe at you until u stop out of embarassment, and has had the audacity multiple times to pop up as Wolfie and just happily listen like you havent also been thru the adventure that literally made him a werewolf

Wind is a cutie, he always joins in, esp when he recognizes the song, and since they can somehow remember the songs u sang while gaming, it will never not be a core memory for you to sing "Drunken Sailor" back to back with "I LOVE YOU HOE" by ODETARI (ft.9lives)

with Wind Waker Link.

You nearly died when you heard him singing the chorus, like literally right after drunken sailor 💀

(Its catchy u got it stuck in ur head from tiktok audios)

(Wind absolutely makes fun of the others for being in love with ur voice, like he'll trick u into ranting abt smth late at night when ur voice is husky or ur just low energy atm, and then from behind you just mouth at the rest of them, sitting looking up at you like ur an angel,

G A Y Y Y Y 🫵🫵🫵 )

☆

Sorry to anyone whose sent in stuff to my mailbox! I promise ill answer u tomorrow!!

Im acc running another blog for a diff fandom and i got busy today :/

BUT THANK U SM AND I LOVE YOU TO ANYONE WHO SENT STUFF IN !! <3333

Like, i would write a fic for u tysm for showing me ur interest bc it feels like tumbleweeds are blowing thru LU fandom when i check the tags 💀

Which isnt awful! I just like hearing feedback from ppl or just talking abt LU and stuff :)

Peace out,

🌙

[uravitsy]

‘BLESSED BE THE FRUIT’ RYOMEN SUKUNA

summary. sukuna finally answers your prayers, ready to give you anything you desire for just a small price in return. ☆

warnings. breedingkink!trueform!sukuna (though he doesn’t have two dicks in this ???), virgin!fem!reader, dirty talk, rough/forceful sex, talk of pregnancy, biblical references, a bit of mythology (?), angst if you squint, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, porn with plot, tw!coercion, you and sukuna are fucking in a temple, this is kinda long and barely edited

a/n. this was loosely inspired by eurydice and hades, if you know you know. i enjoyed diving deeper into some darker topics and exploring sukuna with a breeding kink.

Cloaked in the dim glow of candlelight, you knelt before a modest altar adorned with symbols of the underworld. Your eyes, reflecting a blend of sorrow and determination, were fixed upon an ancient relic representing Sukuna, god of the realm below. With clasped hands and a voice filled with quiet strength, you uttered fervent prayers, seeking solace and sanctuary within the hidden temple. The flickering shadows danced in rhythm to your whispered pleas, creating an atmosphere of otherworldly reverence.

“Please," you whispered, lowering your head beneath the flickering candlelight, the shadows emphasizing the pain in your eyes. "Hear my prayer, Lord Sukuna. Bathe me in all your glory and breathe life into my every desire."

Dealing with the gods was dangerous, a fact you were well aware of, but what other choice did you have? In a world where women were mere possessions, you refused to succumb to a fate of being bartered off like livestock. Each day, you faced the prospect of being presented to suitors—elderly men whose former wives had long since died. It was a fate you couldn't accept. You aspired for more than to become someone's wife; you desired to etch your name into history, to be remembered for more than just a marital tie.

Frustrated by societal expectations, you turned to Lord Sukuna, a deity with a tale that resonated with your own struggles. The legends spoke of his fall from grace, a narrative both pitied and condemned.

"Grant me freedom, the freedom to shape my own destiny, and I shall offer you my body and soul," you implored, slowly disrobing despite the inner warning that this was a dangerous gamble.

As the storm outside intensified, a deafening roar of thunder filled the temple. Startled, you leaped from the cold stone floor as a serpent came before you, its scales brushing against your bare skin. Panic set in, and you screamed, frantically kicking the reptile away.

Your realization of your actions heightened as you hastily covered your exposed body with the silk gown. Ready to leave the temple in disappointment, a chilling voice stopped you in your tracks.

"I come to answer your prayers," the tall figure announced, and as you turned to look, it became apparent he was no ordinary man. With multiple eyes and a visage both unsettling and captivating, it was clear before he spoke that this was Lord Sukuna. Though you recognized him from forbidden stories and images, seeing him in person left you awestruck. The deity towered over you, his appearance more otherworldly than any depiction you had encountered.

"And yet you kick me upon first glance," he snarled, and you dropped to your knees in a bow, pleading for forgiveness.

Yet, Sukuna's response was not what you expected. Swiftly, he materialized behind you, his voice close to your ear, taunting and chilling. As you nervously explained your choice to invoke him, he laughed dismissively, questioning the value of mortal offerings. The encounter with the King of Curses had just begun, leaving you on edge and uncertain of the consequences of your plea.

"Please forgive me, my lord," you uttered, head still bowed, as you sensed Sukuna leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. "I-"

"You, you, you," Sukuna mocked, his tone dripping with disdain. "It's always something you mortals want. I came from my duties to answer your cries for freedom. Was not giving you humans free will enough?"

"I don't have free will or control of my own life," you confessed, glancing over your shoulder to meet Sukuna's gaze. "That is why I called upon you."

With an amused expression, Sukuna suggested drastic solutions, his words making you uneasy. "You could run away, or better yet, kill yourself and give your soul fully to me." You looked down, unable to deny the truth in his words. "Oh, but you won't do that, will you? You mortals always want everything but won't give anything in return."

In response, you steeled yourself, determined to offer what you could. "I can offer you my body and my soul," you declared, a glint of determination in your eyes. "That is all I have to offer."

Sukuna, ancient and seemingly indifferent, stretched his arms with a chuckle. "I am older than the Earth and the Sun itself. I have countless souls and have slept with goddesses.” He tapped his chin with a shake of his head, “No, no, I'm going to need something… more. Something that will weigh on your heart."

Your frown deepened, "Then what do you want?"

"A sacrifice," Sukuna replied, his voice holding a mysterious gravity, leaving you to contemplate the implications of the request. The encounter with the god took a dark turn as the demand for a sacrifice hinted at the potential cost of seeking divine intervention. The weight of your decision began to settle in, and the true nature of the pact you were considering became clearer.

"Sacrifice?" you repeated, the word hanging in the air, leaving you breathless. The realization hit you hard – you were in way over your head. Gambling with the Gods always came with a hefty price.

Sukuna grinned wickedly down at you before revealing his unsettling request. "I am in need of a woman, a woman to carry something very special to me." His fingertips danced across your back, sending a shiver down your spine. "For I need to taint a virgin to birth my son."

The weight of his words sank in, and you instinctively brought your hand to your stomach. "My firstborn child?" Your words echoed in your ears.

"That child would belong to the Gods, to me. It wouldn't be yours," Sukuna explained coldly.

"But I would carry him as my own."

"You'd be nothing but a mere vessel," Sukuna pressed his hand against yours, his black nails digging into your skin. "Do this one task, and I shall ravish you in wealth and power."

The internal struggle reflected in your expression, but Sukuna cut off your thoughts. "I don't have all day, (y/n)." His touch sent shudders through you. Sukuna laughed, his gaze roving over your body as if you were nothing but a piece of meat. "Do you accept?"

Caught in the web of your own desires, you hesitated. Sukuna, the King of Curses, already knew your answer before you spoke it. Your words were trapped in your throat as he continued undressing you. The silk gown you were being discarded, pooling around your ankles. The vulnerability of the moment made it clear how little agency you truly had.

"I accept," you finally whispered, turning around in his arms, ready to submit yourself to him. "I will give you a son."

Little did you know the depths of the consequences this pact would unleash. As you willingly embraced the bargain, you couldn't fathom the entanglement of your fate with the God of death. The journey ahead would prove more treacherous than you could have ever imagined, and the true cost of your decision was yet to unfold.

“Then let’s get to the fun part shall we?”

You had to admit that this wasn’t how you imagined losing your virginity. You thought it would be the traditional way, on your wedding night against a plush feathered stuff bed but clearly the universe had other plans for you. Your body felt as if it was on fire under Sukuna’s gaze, your legs spread apart for him to see you and all your naked glory.

“Look at you, so ripe and ready to be plucked,” Sukuna grins, “I should warn you that I am not the gentle type.”

“I can handle you,” You tell him with a new found confidence.

“Oh?” Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his long slender fingers glide up along your wet folds, “Don’t get too cocky, little lamb.”

You winced in slight pain, his finger entering you up to his knuckles. Sukuna didn’t even give you time to adjust before he started fucking you with his finger, a glob of spit leaving his mouth and on to your naked cunt to get you more lubricated and to make the dry feeling less uncomfortable.

Once his finger could slide into you with ease he added another, his eyes never leaving your face so he could watch your every expression. You tried to bite back your moan, not wanting him to know that that pain you felt now turned into something that was pleasurable. It started off as a faint feeling inside your lower abdomen but it grew, and it had your legs shaking slightly from ecstasy, “Lord S-Sukuna..”

“What was that?” Sukuna pretended not to hear you, “I can’t hear you over the lewd sounds your pussy is making, dove, you got to speak up.”

“Ah!” You tossed your head back at the sudden feeling of Sukuna’s warm tongue on your pussy, it was long and felt a little rough but its warmth had you become a quivering mess. It was all a new sensation, something that the books don’t tell you— that sex can actually feel better if you had a somewhat relationship with the person you’re being intimate with. It was different with you though because you hardly knew Sukuna and yet it was if you’ve known him for years.

“Sukuna..” you moaned his name, the sound bouncing off the temple walls. That pit of pleasure only growing, something that was foreign and seemed forbidden to chase, “I—This feeling—Ah!”

“What a cute virgin you are,” Sukuna’s tongue was exceptionally long as he toyed with your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves as he spoke, “You’re the perfect woman to be filled with my cum.”

“M’gonna..” your legs began to tremble at the pleasure, your chest rising and falling as that wave inside you intensified. You were now being fucked with three fingers, Sukuna enjoyed the sight of your pussy sucking his large fingers in as if your body was specifically made for him, his own cock hardening underneath his kimono.

That wave inside you crashed, your orgasm falling over you, leaving your body involuntarily shaking at that overwhelming feeling of pleasure. Sukuna helped you through your release, his fingers quickly replaced by his thick cock that he slowly moved up and down your soaked folds, teasingly rubbing his swollen tip along your clit.

Your eyes widened at his size, you were sure that he was half the size of your arm. It was intimidating to say the least but what did you expect from one of the Gods? “You’re so big..”

“Aren’t you observant?” Sukuna teased, before taking ahold your legs in his large hands, with a snap of his fingers he materialized a pillow to rest beneath you, giving you a bit more comfort than the stone floor. You thought the gesture was sweet, making you realize that just maybe there was something warm brewing inside his cold, black heart.

Though those thoughts quickly faded as you watched him press your legs forward, your knees against your chest. You were fully exposed to him and unable to move, his fingertips dug into your soft plush thighs with such force you were sure it would leave a mark come morning.

“Now open up for me.” without warning, Sukuna thrusted inside you to the hilt, kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock. To say that you felt as though you were splitting in two was an understatement. It felt as though something ripped inside you, the pain was so instant that you tried to struggle away from his grasp but to no avail. Tears fell from your eyes as you bit down on your bottom lip so harshly to the point where it drew blood. Sukuna was your only source of leverage as he began to pound you against the temple floor. The sound of his balls slapping against your ass and your muffled moans was tuned out by the roaring storm still ensuing outside.

“Look at that little dove,” Sukuna groans at the sight of your small frame taking in his large cock, the thin trail of blood sliding down his veiny length almost sending him into a frenzy, “You aren’t a virgin anymore.”

“Sukuna…please..” Sukuna felt pity for you, for he knew this was no easy task, sleeping with a God— especially since he could be so cruel. To ease the pain, Sukuna opened his mouth on his stomach so his tongue could be free, lapping at your sensitive bundle of nerves yet again as he moved his other two free hands to fondle at your breast, pinching and tugging at your nipples to invoke more pleasure than pain. He knew his goal succeeded when your whimpers quickly turned into soft moans, your glossy eyes looking up at him with such reckless abandon.

“Is that better? I feel you clenching around my cock,” When you didn’t answer right away, Sukuna snaked his fingers in your hair, roughly pulling on the strands to toss your head back and expose your neck to him, “Answer me.”

“It’s s’good,” His cock pistoling inside you had your mind scrambled, eyes rolling further back into your head in pleasure.

“Ah, fuck.” Sukuna was enjoying this, enjoying this a bit too much. It had been a least a thousand years since he had sex with a mortal. He forgot how cute they could be, how fragile they are, “That’s it, take my cock, you like being fucked now don’t you? I bet after this a simple man won’t ever be able to satisfy you.”

You quickly found Sukuna’s fingers in your mouth to stop you from making any more noises. You moan around his cold digits, sucking and gliding your tongue along his fingers as if your life depended on it. Sukuna let out a string of profanities, retracting his hips before plunging himself right back into your greedy cunt; groaning softly at the sight of you quivering under his touch.

Sukuna’s hips continuously collided with yours, over and over with a lewd squelch coming from each forceful slam. You whimpered out his name like a soft prayer. Your drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth and down your chin. The pleasure that racked through you had your whole body shaking against his Sukuna’s death grip, you were unable to move, your role was to simply lie there and take whatever he was giving you with no complaints.

Sukuna kept you pinned to the floor, your legs pinned against you so you could watch as his large cock disappeared inside you. You couldn’t believe that it would barely fit before and now you were taking him like a champ, all of him.

"Look at you, taking my cock so well.”

Another orgasm came over you— making you toss your head back with a loud moan as Sukuna continued to thrusts into your tight velvety walls. You didn’t noticed he had flipped you over until you felt you cheek press against the floor and his large tongue attacked your sensitive pussy yet again.

“Oh my god, s-sukuna..” Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head at the feeling of him fucking you with his tongue. It felt warm, so warm and inviting that you couldn’t stop your own hips from moving back to meet his sinful ministrations, “Yes..”

“You’re quite enticing for a virgin,” Sukuna licked his lips after he was done eating you out like a man starved. Using two of his free hands, he parted your ass cheeks, spreading you wide open for him so he could easily slide his dick in once again. You winced from the pain, this angle making him just go slightly deeper to the point where you felt a slight budge in your lower abdomen. It has you limp, completely powerless against the King of Curses as he used you like a simple toy, “Why, you’re nothing but a slobbish mess. Is my dick that good, dove? You want me to keep fucking this pussy, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” You were crumbling, his name falling off your lips incoherently as he fucked you into another orgasm.

“You ready to take my cum?” Sukuna grunted, feeling his own release nearly reaching its peak. The God sat back against the temple steps, pulling you with him so you were in his lap, your feet on either side of his thighs as his large hands bounced you on his cock with such force it had your mind spiraling. You don’t know which hand it was but one of them found its way to your throat as he fucked you ruthlessly while the others held onto your thighs, forcing you to be still while he pounded up into you, his swollen balls slapping against your ass in the most sinful way, “C’mon woman, tell me you want it,” You shuddered at the feeling of his tongue against your ear, his voice in a cruel whisper.

“I want it.” Your back was against his chest and head on his shoulder as you began to move on your own accord, not even realizing that Sukuna loosened his grip on you.

Sukuna grinned wide, his eyes glinting with mischief. He knew that once he filled your womb you would be bound to him forever, an invisible contract sealing your fate as the mother to his child. You were his now, he owned you in more ways than one— that is what happens when you make a deal with the devil himself.

“I can’t hear you,” He teased, hands moving to cup your full breasts as his sharp teeth grazed your neck.

“I want it!”

“How badly?”

“So, so bad please…cum inside me, Lord Sukuna.”

With those words Sukuna painted your walls white with his load of cum, burying into you to the hilt to ensure that not a single drop would be spilled. You went limp against him, eventually passing out from exhaustion. Sukuna's laughter echoed, a sinister symphony as he gently traced circles on your stomach, foretelling the emergence of his heir.

The King of Curses, now bound by an unsettling promise, sought to give you a life bathed in opulence and liberation—a reward for your courageous surrender, offering both body and mind to bear the weight of his lineage.

Your destinies were now intertwined, a complex tapestry of sacrifice and anticipation. The promise of new life echoes in the air. In nine months on a full moon such as this, a child will enter the world, bearing the legacy of Sukuna. Amidst the shadows of power and ambition, your role is pivotal—a linchpin in a grand design. Sukuna's excitement resonates, not just for his prince, but for a future that hinges on your connection. The gravity of your intertwined fates, a force impossible to escape, draws you deeper into the intricate dance of destiny.

URAVITSY 2024

[molinaesque]

Okay I mentioned that I had a bunch of Raphael thoughts and basically made a whole essay (in literally no actual format, this is just me vomiting out parsing thoughts and using it when lore dumping onto my friends). This is written based off of stuff you find in the game, some Wiki diving and my own thoughts.

Feel free to hit me up with some topics that we can talk about. And remember, these involve are my own thoughts and headcanons at the end of the day, so please act normally and don't come at me with pitchforks just because I have something that doesn't align with your specific HC.

A Prince's Tale: The Story of Raphael

In the universe of Faerûn, there exists a heaven and hell, or in this case the Heavens and the Hells. There are the Nine Hells of Baator, all ruled and lorded over by various archdevils. Raphael is the son of the ruler of the eighth circle of Hell, the archdevil, Mephistopheles. Raphael is a cambion which consists of a fiend and a mortal. Cambions then are considered "results of unnatural and unholy communion". In Raphael's case it's a bit more complicated because the fiend in this equation isn't just some lower being like an incubus or some other demon but a true Devil, making Raphael leagues above, both in power and rank, other typical Cambions, just purely due to his association and blood of being Mephistopheles' offspring.

The system in the Hells is extremely rigid and hierarchical (it's a system that has been upheld for eons. Many of the systems that make up the universe of D&D are as deeply rigid and rooted). Many of the themes of the characters of Baldur's Gate 3 consist of them either repeating the cycle or breaking its hold, which in the D&D verse is an extremely hard thing to do because of how long standing these systems are. In regards to the Hells, it works like a pyramid. The top of the food chain and order are the archdevils. There are many archdevils that reside and rule over each circle of the Hells, one however rules all and lives in the Ninth circle, Nessus; Asmodeus.

So what does Raphael want? The integral key item and centerpiece of the main plotline of BG3 dubbed only as 'The Crown', created by Karsus. Karsus was a very powerful, most would say perhaps THE most powerful wizard who ever lived. An archwizard/demi-god responsible for creating and casting a spell that would steal the power of a deity and transfer it to the archwizard who casted it. Eventually, this was a mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. He did not have the ability to do so properly, causing magic to surge and fluctuate, threatening that balance. This caused the flying cities of Netheril to plummet to the earth. The last thing Karsus sees is his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This will be known as 'Karsus' Folly'.

Raphael tells you about this story and how he was there to witness it happen all those years ago. He wanted the Crown to himself but it was stolen and put into hiding. He later finds out that Mephistopheles, his father was the one responsible for stealing it. Now, here's a way to explain the fucked up power levels and why it plays so much of a factor especially in the Nine Hells. I mentioned how Raphael is not a typical Cambion, BUT even though he is technically a prince by birthright and a half true devil, it doesn't make a difference under the likes of archdevils like his father (who doesn't help at all with Raphael's behaviour because Mephistopheles is a MEGA asshole. I mean, there's a reason why Raphael never utilised his name to invoke influence and power, doesn't even call him father, that's how much he hates him. You only find out about it through Haarlep. He even had another child, a daughter, who he cared more about by making her a trusted double-agent against one of his rivals. Meanwhile, he treats Raphael like nothing and acts as if he doesn't exist for the most part). Basically, unless you are an archdevil in the Hells, you are never TRULY free. As power, literally = freedom in the Hells. Raphael realises this and so began his lifelong ambition to get that power. That came with the events of Karsus' Folly. Realising that this is the opportunity and power Raphael needed, he attempts to steal it only for it to be taken by none other than his own father. Now, you think "ah Mephistopheles wants that power for himself, right?" No. Here is how far apart the levels of power are between beings like Mephistopheles (beings such as archdevils/archwizards/demi-gods/gods/etc) and beings like Raphael, who is already a pretty substantial and powerful Devil by his own right.

Raphael has been coveting the Crown and its power for 10 centuries, a thousand years, essentially. It's his one source that can possibly give him the chance of taking even more control of the Hells and ultimately make him TRULY a free devil. It's his life's mission that has been going on until he's practically in his middle age in devil years (his human appearance showcases this, and we also see a younger Raphael in his devil form with Haarlep). Half of his (immortal) life. It is very crucial and important to him.

And yet… to Mephistopheles, it's just a souvenir. A trinket. Or as Raphael puts it, "a museum piece".

This, undoubtedly angered Raphael so much and made his hatred towards his father even more so (Raphael mentioned how he raged for a decade, understandably). The fact that not only does his father treat him as if he doesn't exist, but to add insult to injury, did this while mocking him by not taking him seriously. One of the things he did was to send an incubus, Haarlep, made and glamoured to be an exact copy of Raphael, to distract him. It could also be seen as a message of "here is my gift to you and it is one of the only few things that will ever be 'truly' yours; a copy of yourself". Raphael would have been the first image that Haarlep acquired, thus why the constant form that you see him with is of Raphael (Haarlep tells you this if you kill him and speak to his corpse). Haarlep's corpse also tells you that "Raphael only loves himself." I wonder why. Haarlep also has a contract that requires him to obtain 1000 souls (the runes on his harness have been translated to the number '1000') in order to be free. This is why the archivist in House of Hope tells you that special guests can reside in the boudoir, as this is a primary way for Haarlep to collect more souls. If you sleep with him, and allow him to have your heart and soul, you die. If you promise your body only, you live but he now has a full copy of you entirely. Additionally, we know Gortash was sold to be in Raphael's services when he was a boy. We know that Gortash and the other Chosen eventually stole the Crown from Mephistopheles' vault. What's interesting is if you explore the House of Hope, you can find a portal to the eighth circle of Hell, Cania, where Mephistopheles resides. I believe that Gortash utilized this to obtain the Crown. Imagine the sheer rage and embarrassment Raphael had to endure because of this. Not only did the Crown get snatched from under him once but TWICE. Once by his father, and then later by a boy who was under his charge. I can completely imagine Mephistopheles utilising that as additional ammo and lording that over Raphael's head.

In pertaining to Raphael's character and behavior, all of this explains additionally as to why Raphael is the way he is. It's selfish, insecure behavior that also explains the portraits he surrounds himself with. Notice how all the paintings are of his true form. He also has many lines of dialogue depending on what you pick during your various meetings where he truly gets angry. One of these lines is him shouting "I AM NO MORTAL" when you simply ask why he would succeed where Karsus had failed (which is ironic because, my guy, you are part mortal, so was Karsus but he was very powerful for many other reasons other than pure association and blood. Raphael even tells you how foolish of a notion it would be if you suggest that you could take the Crown for yourself, telling you that archdevils, wizards, and gods have worn the Crown, "it would tear you apart" he warns you). The portraits of his Devil form in House of Hope surrounding him is a way of constant reminder to himself of what he wants to be associated with. He HATES that he is part mortal (he has showcased his disdain for the mortal realm very clearly during your encounter in House of Hope) and wants to see himself as only a Devil. To say that dude's got major issues and complexes is a huge understatement. He's a deeply insecure being who's controlling and manipulative (most of it stemming from his father and his predicament of essentially living a half-life), but he's also a pragmatic, self-aware character. He's very much the epitome of Lawful Evil. If the players choose to only see him as a one note character who's just "self-centered and evil", you can. That's the beauty of Baldur's Gate. These things are true,but you can also add on top of that when you choose to find out and explore for more lore and characterization.

Interestingly, the way he treats someone who opposes him compared to those who don't are very stark in contrast. You see it with the prime examples of Hope (naming the house after her due to her being the one soul who he cannot convert and have on his team completely) and of her sister Korilla, who has mentioned that she loves being in service of Raphael completely as he has treated her with respect and given her more freedom than her previous master ever did, who in her own words, "constantly would beat me and feed me scraps". "Better to be free in the Hells than go begging in the Heavens", she tells you. She's also not blindly following Raphael or under any thrall. In fact she makes light of him and his antics to you completely of her own volition. She made a bet with Raphael whether you would survive and get to Baldur's Gate (which Raphael bet FOR you to succeed btw). You can find the Five Soul Coins they bet for in the safe hidden behind the portrait in HoH. And she doesn't sing his praises completely, saying that she's more skeptical of you than Raphael is and is fearful of how wrong he would be banking everything on you, saying "Raphael can be so very wrong". She basically tells you that Raphael won't shut up about you. She also tells you that Raphael is, in her own words, "by no means altruistic" and argues that Raphael truly wants to not have the world destroyed because it would simply mean, as she puts it "the boss did the balance sheets. No world, no souls". In fact, she BEGS you to reconsider if you didn't take the deal in the first place.

One could argue that Raphael residing in Avernus and having him in proximity of mortals more in comparison to the deeper levels of the Hells, gave him more perspective. He even tells you he doesn't want Baldur's Gate to be destroyed. He tells you, fondly, he couldn't possibly want that to happen because the city is "an object lesson of moral excess". Why would he want a huge primary source of deals and contracts for him gone. If you explore the House of Hope, many of his deals range from complex, twisted deals to simple, straightforward ones with no caveats (for example there is a debtor who tells you that he sold his soul for enough money to keep his family well fed. Done. No trickery. That was the end of it. Even the architect of Moonrise Towers attested to Raphael keeping his word and defeating Ketheric's forces way back then). In Raphael's own words, "I'm a man of my word" and he wasn't lying. There's a reason why he has practically a 99.9% conversion rate (his one big failure being Hope and why he's so obsessed with converting her is because he truly cannot understand how one can be so pure of a soul. She's a puzzle, and Raphael HATES it when he can't figure something out). If you're wondering why can't Raphael (or any other devil) force or lie about the contracts they have made, well that's literally by design. Asmodeus created a law that bars devils from doing so, and devils will get punished severely would they ever take advantage of that. That's also why devils have to be extra sneaky when being contractors because if they die, it doesn't matter. The contracts they made while still alive still stays intact until they are completed. Meanwhile, the contract just gets given to another devil. When Raphael tells you in HoH if you asked him for no more bloodshed, he tells you "you've given me no choice". He means this, as it would mean both you AND he would be punished regardless if he were to let it be.

Mol is another example of a straightforward transaction. He wasn't lying when he said he'll keep Mol safe from harm in exchange for becoming her patron. It's not for something nebulous like "she has to become the leader of the guild in the next 20 years" or something extreme, it was just "I'll be your patron in return for your safety and security". He sees her as a long standing investment. Raphael mentioned that he hates children, but there is ONE thing he values above all else and admires when he recognizes it. "Ambition." He tells you he sees that in Mol during the meeting at Last Light Inn. It's also believable that he sees himself in Mol (especially his younger self) and thought "I respect it and I get another easy contract. Win-win". The dude loves underdog stories since his own is practically one as well. In fact, Mol doesn't like it when you treat her condescendingly. If you remember the chess scene in Last Light Inn, there are ways she can lose but also various ways she can win (and no, you don't have to only pick helping her cheat for this to work). If you help her cheat, she wins. If you help her by giving her an offensive strategy, she wins (in fact Raphael knows that she cheated, and if she won legitimately, even comments about the move and stating that it's a legit maneuver in chess and praises Mol for it saying that it's "exactly what I would've done"). Either way, Raphael praises your suggestions when Mol leaves. If however, you don't offer advice, or tell Mol to be defensive, she looses, prompting Raphael to comment on how being non committal or weak will not help Mol in the long run. If you stole her contract, she doesn't mind it too much BUT if you killed Raphael and told her about it, she will HATE you. Hating how you killed her patron, "Big Raph" as she calls him, that would ensure her safety and security as long as she's under contract. It's another additional interesting subplot that doesn't really have anything to do with the grand scheme of the game, but adds even more layers to already fascinating characters.

This dichotomy is what makes Raphael a very complex and interesting character. He's a devil who wants Ultimate Power, make no mistake, but he also is pragmatic enough to realise that he does not want another "Karsus' Folly". In fact, he could have easily just done an Emperor to gain your trust wholeheartedly and then turn on you the moment you have the Crown. It would have been easier for him. But he chose to bank on you being a long term investment maybe even beyond the Crown, meeting you head on and reveal his true nature to you from the first meeting. If you listen to everything he tells you, he never actually lies, he omits things here and there, but he never lies to you (in fact if you become even more on his team, there is a line where he straight up tells you that he "likes you"). It's a similar relationship with Korilla, in that she has complete free will but is for his team. He mentions that he does not like it when people beg or kiss his ass (there are many examples of this, his conversation with Voss for one and also whenever you choose dialogue options that make you seem like a spineless whimp). He even tells you at points that he likes the way you do things (even if they're a bit unorthodox), and if you took his contract but chose to break it (or just stole the hammer, it's the same regardless), it makes it even more personal because he genuinely was shocked to find that you were the one breaking into his house. This is one of the few times we see Raphael truly angry. No fancy words, no charm, no smarmyness. Just anger and even sheer disappointment that you chose to, in his own words, "become like Karsus, disregarding everything and burning your world to ash" (remember, Raphael truly believes that his method with the hammer and Orpheus is the ONLY way to defeat the brain, that's the unfortunate part of obsessing and planning for this goal for so long that he truly believes there are no other alternatives. He mentions in one of his diaries that he has planned a dozen ways to obtain the Crown, but he concludes that there is only one way for it to actually work and it involves Orpheus, hence the creation and naming of "The Orphic Hammer". There's even a book about its creation in HoH). Hell, even one of the dialogue options where you say "there's no need for more bloodshed", you would think he'd just be like "HAHAHA evil dialogue, i planned this all along, you're nothing, blah blah" but instead he actually says in his own words, "I have no choice" because we know that breaking contracts means death, and death means he has to collect your soul. Even if you didn't sign the contract and break in, he still genuinely did not think you would go so far as to do such a thing especially with the offer he made to you. He basically blames you for being too proud to do such a thing.

Even when you don't take his contract at all, when you meet up with the Emperor again in the Astral Prism during the battle against the Netherbrain, choosing to betray the Emperor will cause Raphael to appear for a final time. Does he just offer you the contract again? Yes. But not before scolding you for being an idiot and genuinely being pissed off at you for not taking his deal to free Orpheus. He even tells you in his own words, "we could have been allies, partners… FRIENDS!" If you try to beg him for help, he shouts at you, saying how you are in no position to make demands anymore because of your reckless actions. You made your bed, you have to recognise it. If you still refuse his offer, he doesn't try to force you, or twist your arm in any way… he just tells you, quote, "Goodbye. It's been unforgettable" (which is his way of saying "i won't forget you… but i also won't forget how much of a fucking blind idiot you were) and then leaves you forever. If you take the deal, he tells you it's no longer as equals anymore, you are now considered a lowly servant to him. He genuinely wanted you to be partners, but doing all of this basically leads him to conclude that you aren't worth it anymore. The way the writers chose to have the Emperor and Raphael parallel each other but in different ways is genius. They are two sides of the same coin. Both want true freedom, both try to manipulate Tav, the main characters for their own cause, both are extremely pragmatic and set in their own ways and goals. The irony is that instead of portraying Raphael as this pure scheming, one note character - is flipped on it's head by making him honestly, one of the most truthful characters in the game. It's just that he's a Devil. As Korilla states when you ask her back at the brothel, "why can't Raphael just be clear with me if we are on the same team?" she tells you as if explaining that the sky is blue…

"He's a Devil. It's in his nature. He has to make his dues."

This speaks of how ancient and deeply rooted these laws and systems work in their universe. Typically, characters says stuff like this to be hyperbolic/dramatic. But in the case of Raphael as a Devil, she means this literally, as souls keep the Hells functionable, and as we know by now, souls = power, and more power = more freedom.

Now, to address the epilogue and what happens if you do make the pact with him and delivered upon your promise. He comes to you and tells you that he and his forces are already taking over Avernus and overthrew Zariel. He tells you that he has various archdevils already coming to him to make concessions, his father included. He also tells you that he'll be knocking on your door soon. This is open to interpretation, but remember he has sworn to you during your deal that he would never use the Crown on a mortal (trust me, with his obsession with the Hells and how he envisioned on ruling it, in his own words "more order, efficiency, and control", he is definitely more interested in dominating the Hells only, it's too much work anyhow to be interested in anything else. Also he swore to you as part of the contract, he literally cannot break this, if he does, it's immediate punishment for him, so he's not lying). So, more than likely, he finds you to be a very important potential ally to further work with in the future. Also, depending on how early you signed the contract, his tone/line can be interpreted VERY differently.

Now here's the most interesting part… if you aren't familliar with D&D lore, that epilogue would lead you to believe "oh damn he's going to be ruler of the Nine Hells just like he wanted, good for him", but that's easier said than done. Because not only the deeper the Hells go, the more powerful these archdevils will be. I have no trepidation about him defeating them or them conceding to him, that's already happening. The one obstacle he truly needs to worry about… is the keeper of the Ninth Hell, the ruler of all the Nine Hells of Baator, Asmodeus. The creator and overlord himself. Just to give you a concept of how the power levels work in D&D… level 12 and above, are almost levels of godhood. Think the likes of Hercules. At the level Asmodeus is at, however, a former deity (speculative) and creator of the laws and system that permits the balance of life and the universe itself, Raphael even with the Crown will have… a VERY slim chance of overruling him. At the very least he could take over the other realms or instill his way of order and control, and appeal to Asmodeus, because funny enough, Asmodeus' personality and behaviour and goals is VERY similar and akin to Raphael's (Asmodeus is the primal embodiment of Lawful Evil and a supreme strategist of unparalleled skill. He's good at warfare but even better at words, planning, and subterfuge). Another thing is Raphael might even change his own mind, because Asmodeus isn't just the ruler of the Hells, his primary existence is to keep the balance of life and death and the existing universe in check. I personally don't see Raphael being interested in such a huge responsibility but that's another topic for another day.

Another fun fact, many of the characters in D&D are existing characters in various cultural stories/mythologies. Many of the archdevils included with the likes of Mephistopheles, Baalzebub, Mammon, and yes even Asmodeus. The writers most likely looked to biblical texts for inspiration of Raphael, but the irony is they took the one famous character in Christian biblical text, Raphael, who is not a devil, but an archangel and then flipped that character on its head. One of archangel Raphael's most famous stories is literally called, 'the Battle Against Asmodeus', where Raphael fights against Asmodeus, a fallen cherub and dubbed, "personal adversary" of Raphael. What's even cooler? The battle was not one of might, but of intelligence, wisdom and influence. Exactly like how D&D's own Raphael and Asmodeus operate. Raphael certainly takes more after Asmodeus than he does his own father.

Speaking of which, what about his father? Raphael mentions that he was there amongst the midst of other archdevils coming to Raphael to make concessions. Raphael is smart enough to know, though, that his father is not there solely out of "you did it, my boy" or anything like that, or perceiving him as a true threat still. Besides knowing how Raphael is seen by Mephistopheles, back at the diabolisk shop, there is an orb charmed to keep an eye on Raphael at all times. If you had defeated him in House of Hope, you will witness Mephistopheles holding the broken body of Raphael over his mouth and eating him. It's a nod to 'Saturn/Kronos eating his son(s)'. Basically, if you chose this ending for Raphael, you close the circle and end this story of Jacobean tragedy of an underdog prince who has been seeking validation and freedom from the sheer inescapable nature of the Hells and it's systems. In a way Raphael also has the same themes of your other companions who are also trying to navigate their fates. Whether to repeat that cycle in perpetuity or break free of it, it all hinges upon your choices throughout this journey of Baldur's Gate 3. Basically, Mephistopheles is just waiting patiently to witness his own son's downfall should he become overzealous and overtly ambitious, before swooping in to consume his son and all that additional power for himself, power that he doesn't even need, mind you. He's just there for the vibes, and to add even more pressure on his son. Parents, amirite?

If you're on team Raphael (like me) and gave him the ending he wants, the only thing I can really say is "Good luck, little prince. I'm actually rooting for you. You're going to need it."

Will our little princeling be able to break out of his own cycle and come out on top? Will Raphael be able to even get to the ninth circle let alone confront Asmodeus? Will Raphael finally get one over his dear ol' dad? Will Raphael ever get to finally make due on his promise ("I'm a man of my word"), and have that wine with Tav?

Hard to say, for his journey is just beginning.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Genshin Sagau (?) Isekai Brainrot - Language

I've seen like ONE small kinda related Genshin Sagau/isekai idea for this but I wanted more of it so BAD

It’s not the most interesting thing in the world, it’s about our modern vernacular vs. Teyvat's flowery speech

Pls feel free to expand on or add to this pLEASE TAG ME IF U DO IM STARVING OUT HERE :)))

So I saw someone write like one sentence abt this (can’t remember who :( sorry I’ll update if I find them ) or like a brutally honest version??

But I also took inspo from how fucking wordy and long conversations that are in Genshin, even with ppl like Xiao (the rude boy that he is) or even Tighnari who gets to the point pretty quickly

It goes smth like:

So, all of Teyvet, (esp ppl like Zhongli 💀 u know the ones) talk,, flowery.

Like, the whole Pride and Prejudice style speaking, euphemisms, metaphors, for some characters (or Npcs) its full on POETRY. 

Lookin’ at you Kazuha.

.

And going off of any variation of you being the Creator, (or otherwise an older mythical being?), they could have this thing where the older a deity/mythical thingy is, the simpler the speech. 

Kinda makes sense to them y’know? The older beings are serious, commanding, intimidating

And nothing says "I'm ancient as fuck and powerful as fuck" like simple blunt speech.

And being closer to the literal creation of the world, language would understandably be less complex (I’m assuming it’s the same as in human cultures in our world's history)

Like literally look at our fantasy typical stories, plenty of them have a dragon or ancient god that speaks in extremes, like so flowery its a metaphor, or so bluntly its startling (ie, "Be not afraid." "I am all powerful." etc etc)

And so, ancient powerful being = direct/blunt speech

..

…

...Y'know,, almost like our modern vernacular.

Like, part of some of our modern day comedy is purely based on a sentence being delivered bluntly for impact

Hell our ads and videos and content in general we always want to get to the point, to say things simply

So with this in mind, even if you try to deny being the Creator, they might still think you are, or at least a more minor ancient deity/creature

 .

(like the Seven Sovereigns/Phanes/Shades/etc. for example would sound eerily modern or at least easy for you to understand bc of this trait lol)

(Also I'm just assuming u know Genshin lore enough to know what I meant by that ^)

____

So, I love the AU where you just,, hitch a ride with the traveler like Paimon bc u start at the "beginning of the game",

And with every person you meet, you're like, "Ok, no, I promise this is just how my country/world speaks, it's not like that, I'm not some ancient deity…" 

And They're all like 🤨🤨🤨 "Well, fine traveler and companions, why does your speech sound so simplistic and sharp? Surely, you do not expect me to truly believe you.."

You: "Please I just talk like this, I'm a regular human."

Them: "Alright, if it is as you say,, you wish to not experience being "known" yes? Fear not, I will keep your secrets close to my chest."

You: "No, for the last time, that's not-" 

.

And it just keeps happening, lol

.

(srry I tried my best at emulate Genshin language + flowery speech idk how to do it)

.

Like maybe you would just sound weird or like a foreigner speaking y’know in simpler sentences bc they don't know the language as well as native speakers, at least that could be how you sound to NPCs and ppl who don’t know abt simpler speech meaning

.

...But the Adepti? Zhongli?? Barbatos maybe??? Even the Aranara??? Those who are old enough to maybe have heard how older beings speak or at least have knowledge of how they should speak/sound??

You couldn’t have predicted how shocked their faces were the second you opened you’re mouth… 

Sumeru scholars would freak tf out i stg, as soon as you meet Haypasia, she's already losing it, first the Irminsul progress, now this ancient being/Creator?? Girlie thinks its a sign lmao

.

(I’m an Aether lover, and also bc I think Lumine looks badass as Abyss ruler, so I’m gonna go with Aether for traveler sorry Lumine mains love yall T-T)

.

You, and Aether being equally confused at first pLEASE 😭 

lets say he speaks a little more fluffy than you at least, after all I’m assuming bc of the outfit that he’s from a fantasy-like place, and his replies can be a little fluffy like Teyvat’s residents, so he kinda fits in, kinda like everybody assumes he's just from another country when he gets to a new nation (at least that’s what I think happens??)

.

Like after (maybe Diluc?) Lisa, Kaeya, Venti, and Jean (who I think would all be knowledgeable, thru diff means, about this enough to maybe recognize the simpler speech = ancient god thing)

ALL reacted shocked as hell at hearing you talk, and would probably explain (or Paimon before then?) in that infuriatingly roundabout way, that you would usually skip a couple dialogue boxes just to avoid bc yOU ALREADY GOT THE POINT or alternatively WHATS THE POINT HERE?? JUST SAY IT, WHATS THE COMMISSION/QUEST FOR/WHAT DO I DO??

(Those blue highlights be savin my impatient life, and i actually like lore stuff 💀)

.

Oh that’s also another frustration. For you.

.

It would drive me crazy if I had to wait like,, 2-3 minutes for ppl to explain what they ate for dinner or sm shit

Like, now imagine that’s everyone, about everything.

You don’t know how anything gets done in battles or wars, like you need faster communication for that right??💀

.

Anyway, you, Aether and Paimon decide you just gotta not talk when you first meet people or like,, make sure you're gonna be around that person for a while so you don’t have to possibly get someone over the shock of your speech every time you guys talk to people 😭 that'd be so miserable I can already tell,,

Like at first, every convo ya’ll have had with people who recognize that direct speech trait as a thing, would take at least 10 minutes to finish talking about it/being shocked,,

It got so old so fast.

.

(Like I already can’t communicate that good with ppl irl bc I misunderstand them, or they do me, or they just dont get what I mean, and as my friends put it, which I think would fit here for any language shenanigans we go thru in Teyvat, "A Shakespearean level of misunderstanding, hilarious but such a downward spiral to watch, it just gets more and more ridiculous as it goes on...")

.

On another note, making fun of someone would be so fucking funny,

I’d like to give myself the benefit of the doubt that many characters, after getting used to your speech, would generally understand you (even if they always notice it, like an accent) and would actually rlly love hearing insults or even just generally how you would put things

(like maybe treating this almost like those vids of ppl with non-native english speaknig relatives/parents and its the most hilarious thing to watch them, usually get pissed 😭, at their kid, if u dont know what I mean look up on tiktok or smth)

And You just come off like those insults where you dont even use cuss words, you just like, drag queen read them into never showing their face again, and you did it in so few words!! 

They're amazed and oh, 

you've become the John Mulaney of Teyvat 

(Bad examples include:

Fontaine inventor: "...And I shall call my invention, crocks!"

You: "I wouldn't even be cremated in those." ) 

*Aether crying laughing in the background bc he never knows what you’re gonna say next, and Paimon's jaw dropped so hard

JFC this post is so long sorry, I probably will spam with a Part 2 but let me know if you’re interested in hearing more anyway!!

Thanks for reading this rambling!!

Or send in asks abt this 👀

Cheers,

🌒🌊🌧Aquarius♒️🌌🌘

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eeeeee! Congratulations! You deserve every single one! 🖤

Could I pretty please request:

Am I supposed to be scared now? In a Mafia AU. Vibes and item I'll leave up to your enormous, genius brain.

🖤🖤🖤

Thank you so much, Sam! 💖✨️ Hope you enjoy!

Worth the risk

Rated: E

Words: 992

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Dark Eddie Munson; Mob boss Richard Harrington; Secret relationship; intrigue; Referenced character death (RIP Tommy); Blood and violence; Knife play; Blood play; Groping; Dry humping

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

Nobody says anything as they make their way out of the Harrington villa, but by some unspoken agreement, they don't part ways yet. They linger in the driveway by the cars. 

Eddie knows better than to speak first. Instead, he lights a cigarette and lets the silence drag on, pretending to be brooding over the night’s events. He knows that somebody is bound to say something sooner rather than later. 

It’s Jeff who does, in the end. 

“Harrington’s losing it.” 

Gareth jumps and casts anxious glances all around himself, like he’s expecting to find the boss lurking somewhere in the shadows, while Frank shushes Jeff with a hectic gesture. 

“Shut up, are you insane?” 

Jeff shrugs petulantly, but he does lower his voice. “I'm just saying what everyone is thinking. That thing with Hagan? That was completely fucking bonkers, sending him to make that deal with the Carvers all alone. It’s almost like he wanted him to end up with a bullet through his head.” 

“Maybe he did,” Gareth says. “Rumor has it Hagan’s been making eyes at the son.” 

Eddie nods along solemnly with the rest of them. 

“All I’m saying is, it’s bad news,” Jeff mumbles. “He believes he’s invincible, that he can get away with anything. It’s dangerous for a man in his position to think like that.” 

“Then maybe he shouldn’t be.” Eddie lets the words linger, waiting until every single face is turned to him. “Be in that position, I mean.” 

Frank scoffs. “Yeah, right. Who’d even wanna do it instead? Junior seems much more interested in lounging by the pool and taking it up the-” 

“Nah,” Eddie is quick to deflect. “We’d need someone capable. Somebody younger, who knows how things work on the street.” 

“Someone like you?” 

“I wouldn’t know about that, Gare,” Eddie lies. “Just putting in my two cents on the matter.” 

Behind the garden wall, a light flickers alive, then dies again, quick as a heartbeat. Eddie grinds his cigarette under the heel of his boot. 

“Shit, just remembered I forgot something. Don’t wait for me, guys.” 

He feels their gazes on his neck as he walks back towards the house and doesn't bother hiding his grin. 

*

The hydrangeas are long past their bloom, decaying flower petals rustling under his feet. He doesn't lament their death, not when he knows that the seeds of something else are slowly taking root. 

The underwater lights of the pool bask the garden in an eerie glow, but he makes his way to the pool house unbothered. He has hardly ducked inside when a key clicks in the lock behind him. 

Eddie’s body moves on instinct and muscle memory. The key clatters off somewhere in the darkness,  and when the crimson veil lifts from his eyes, he has a warm body pressed against the wall, the edge of his knife licking at a shivering throat. A throat covered in the fading marks of his own teeth. 

“Damn, Stevie,” he hisses, retracting the blade and sliding it back into its holster. It leaves the faintest of cuts, tiny droplets of blood gathering against tan skin like dark beads. “Are you out of your mind? You can't just sneak up on people like that.” 

Steve scowls at him, face full of haughty disdain. He's beautiful in the glow of the pool seeping in from outside. He's always beautiful, of course, but something about the pale blue light rippling off his skin makes him look ethereal and downright unreal. Like an ancient deity, like a marble statue come alive.

“Excuse me?” he whispers, wriggling in Eddie’s hold. “What was I supposed to do? Nobody tells me shit, and then I overhear my dad talking on the phone about how one of his guys was killed. I just wanted-” 

“Aw,” Eddie coos. He leans into Steve’s space, scraping a toothy grin against the hollow of that pretty throat. His lips come away tasting like copper, leaving a bloody trail on Steve's skin. “Are you worried about me, honey? Why, I'm honored.” 

Steve pushes his head away with one palm against his cheek, but makes no further attempt at twisting out of his grip. 

“This isn't a fucking joke, Eddie. If my dad finds out about this, you'll be next in line for a bullet through the- Will you stop this?” 

Eddie lets Steve's thumb slide out of his mouth with an obscene, wet sound, nipping at the tender skin at its base as he goes. 

“Am I supposed to be scared now?” he drawls. “I'm not an idiot, I can look after myself.” 

“I know you can,” Steve confesses, tracing Eddie’s cheekbone with his thumb. It's still wet with his own spit, and the touch leaves a thin trail of moisture, cool in the stuffy air of the pool house. “But sometimes, I don't think you understand how dangerous this is.” 

“Believe me, darling, I’m well aware of the danger.” Eddie trails a hand over Steve’s throat, down his chest. The motion makes a drop of blood run from his neck into the collar of his shirt. He watches how it blooms on the white fabric, pretty like a flower, as he slips his hand between Steve's legs. “Good thing we both like it a little, dangerous, right?”

He gives the bulge in Steve’s pants a firm squeeze, and as always, the boy responds like the beautiful, needy little dream that he is. He rolls his hips, grinding himself into the touch, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck to slot their bodies closer together. Eddie bites down on that perfect, pink bottom lip and laughs against it when Steve moans. 

“Woah, honey! What happened to being careful?”

“What's life without a little risk?” Steve smiles, looking at him from under his long lashes. “And besides, you made me drop the key, so one of us will end up on his knees anyhow.” 

Eddie finds he can't argue with that.

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