𖤝 sending your ass to #𝘆𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗻𝘂𝗺. independent and selective multi-muse colosseum run by havi. [ ft. characters predominantly from fantasy and urban fiction. ] twenty-seven, they/them. medium activity & duplicate friendly. affiliated with cautionarys and veilmotel. please read my guidelines before following. warnings ahead of mature content.
navigation : 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘥, 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴.
a narrative study in : the edgerunners of society, committed to being damned by love and danger, eldritch truth and the cost of insight, finding faith in oneself through madness, the tyranny of heaven, demons as the knights in spiked armour, dismantling shame, embracing the bitter and the dark.
this is a private space where i write characters i'm bananas about. i am busy with work throughout the week so patience is both expected and appreciated. reach out for plots and questions any time!
a few guidelines for newcomers :
duplicates are entirely welcome. duplicate anxiety however is not. open to feedback, won't tolerate rudeness. any bigotry, islamaphobia, sexism, anti-semitism, zionism, and use of ai art will result in block. i can take a few days to follow back, just because i like to make sure i properly read your rules / dossier!
please read, accessibility request :
i also request that colours, fancy letterings and double / triple spaces between words be avoided when writing with me. kindly soft-block when unfollowing and feel entirely free to re-follow whenever.
art by amy thompson. psd by hesperides.
primary :
▪ neil josten, all for the game.
▪ jem carstairs, infernal devices.
▪ alice liddell, madness returns.
▪ clive rosfield, final fantasy xvi.
▪ leon kennedy, resident evil.
▪ vinsmoke sanji, one piece netflix.
▪ galadriel, lord of the rings.
▪ jason todd, under the red hood.
secondary :
▪ lord severin, folk of the air.
▪ kassandra of sparta, ac: odyssey.
▪ lady maria, bloodborne.
▪ messmer, elden ring.
▪ pinokio, lies of p.
▪ stefan salvatore, vampire diaries.
▪ lucyna kushinada, cyberpunk edgerunners.
original characters :
▪ kazheir asghar, child of nox in the riordanverse.
▪ phira katsaros, child of aphrodite in the riordanverse.
▪ freydís sveinsdottir, skadi reborn in god of war.
▪ viziera khātun, janesyr from witcher inspired lore.
▪ farah hosseini, time-travelling vampiress.
private : the dragon, ha do-yeong, sephiroth, oliver marks, andrew minyard, achilles, dark sun gwyndolin [ *includes hiatus muses : the darkling, jude duarte, zagreus. ]
voice - testing : kaneki ken, needle knight leda, minthara baenre, astarion ancunín, radagon of the golden order.
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[03.] slipping into the lonesome alleyway behind the bar for "time alone". for the curse freaks.
a world seemingly underground, cunning and careful enough to have gone undiscovered for as long as it has— satoru’s felt as though an inner eye has opened as kaneki has submerged the world’s strongest sorcerer little by little in his existence as both monster and man. an entire universe of a sub-culture ( a unique species ) exposed to him on the coattails of indisputable trust. a world which satoru’s heart carries upon his shoulders, and still has faith enough to extend his arms to try to bridge the gap between what he was born as and what he ended up. neither curse, nor man. is it not then satoru’s responsibility to protect that dream, too? the honored one! a force of terrifying nature : he exists to maintain the delicate and intricate biomes between the corporeal and metaphysical. befitting, that he loves so strongly a man exemplary of that equilibrium.
in the perceptions of those around them, the ghoul king and the six eyes are not in love— to some, neither of them exist to one another, or they are enemies, or satoru is kaneki’s waiting executioner. to others, they are collaborators for a greater cause, or in partners in crime, or settling business together. sitting slouched, knees spread open wide, a body physically aching for touch stares across the table : a terrible, blue glint peeking above the blackout lenses of an expensive pair of sunglasses. a chilling crawl, the way satoru’s gaze examines kaneki’s profile … the awful sensation of being watched by a hunter. the intruding creep of a stalking predator against ken’s soul.
still, the man-curse is a marvel to observe. amongst the other ghouls in this space radiating with night life, kaneki is the full face of the moon, illuminating and irresistible— he draws the eye, commands attention. a renaissance painting, how the others flock to him. reach for him. how they crave, how their cursed energy morphs and tugs toward him like wanting tides. everybody wants a taste! but kaneki is satoru’s … mine, mine, mine, he dreams, still fixated now on the back of ken’s head. the slope of his neck into the collar of a coat. the pale hairs which catch over cloth’s lip, each inhale he takes at the beginning of a thought while he speaks, the way his chest fills with air the way his hands gesture the-! hopeless. i’m hopeless, thinks satoru.
arm rests along the tabletop, fingers encircled around a sweating glass. the pads of his fingers condense water until it slips under his touch and pools at the foot of the daiquiri. beneath lenses, satoru's greedy gaze flows along the lines of kaneki's body. when he glances back up, the ghoul king's masked head has tilted slightly to look at satoru with his one, black and red eye. the six eyes' spirit connects so profoundly with the intense regard that every other soul bleeds away into shades of grey beneath satoru's overwhelming omnipresence. over the rims of his custom prada shades, the sorcerer holds the attention upon him. his extended hand caps the straw of his blended beverage with his index, lifting it out pinched between fingers to funnel slushed pineapple daiquiri onto his tongue, peeking out between pearlescent teeth.
the hard swallow of his beverage bobs his throat. dress shirt unbuttoned low enough to reveal half of his chest, the jewelry that decorates his neck glitters in the bar's low lights enticingly. at once, satoru's eyes flicker towards a back door. he stands and moves. as tall as satoru is, as heavy as his presence is, the crowd parts subconsciously to allow him through unhindered. disappearing out the door first, hands in slacks pockets, satoru walks around the building and further into darkness. kaneki will find him by scent alone.
the few minutes required to prevent their rendezvous from coming across as too suspicious pass, and with the utmost predictability, ken appears inhumanly quick. their bodies flirt first, satoru's hands finding hips to tug them closer together, kaneki's hands exploring the expanse of a strong chest ( and even undoes an additional button ). back presses into brick as satoru tilts partially backwards, offering a better view of his person. he's grinning hard enough to reveal the handsome smile-lines dug into his cheeks. unzips the teeth of the curse's mask, prying textile open with two fingers in a scissor motion to see the real mouth beneath.
❛❛ wanted to be in your mouth for the past two hours. i've been SO good and patient. ❜❜ satoru does not elaborate before they are on each other. ken has stretched fully, embracing satoru in the best way to have him flush— belly pressing into belly with deep, desperate breaths. six eyes' hands slide around kaneki beneath his coat to find exposed skin along the open back of his body-suit. there his fingers splay, palms flat, as if he means to take advantage of every inch of skin-to-skin contact he can acquire while they are both fully clothed. satoru ventures valiantly to kiss kaneki, even with the damn mask in the way, even as the metal of the zipper bites into his skin.
❛❛ not scared someone's gonna see? ❜❜ satoru snickers against his curse's mouth, satisfied to the point of overconfidence. he's smug! but doesn't he have the right to be? here he is tasting what others mouths' water for. then, satoru becomes even more gluttonous. one hand pushes beneath the seam of the lowest point of kaneki's open backed piece, grabbing palmfuls of flesh. kissing sighs have turned laborious, breath escaping forcefully as sharp teeth pierce his intruding tongue. he moans, humid, as the iron is sucked off that muscle.
❛❛ hungry? ❜❜ he asks, half-stupid already by their contact. one hand wanders to try to remove ken's mask— wrist is yanked away, touch guided elsewhere, gojō complies obediently ( though it isn't long before that hand rises again : this time to grasp a fistful of silvery hair ). kaneki pays him no mind, dragging his ghoulish lips, and the mask's teeth, down along his lover's neck. ugh, his neck! basically a kill-switch for any semblance of self-control he might've had. satoru releases ken's hair to instead press his hand over his own mouth, only partially muffling his pathetic, horribly aroused groans.
❛❛ not- Hʰahh, my neck-! ken, i ca-i'ᴹmmᵐ, fuck, that feels so good. ❜❜ reacting, six eyes cringes gently as his skin blooms with elated sensation. he does not breathe right, every other sounding a gasp. couldn't give less of a damn about any consequences of being seen now, where his resolve actively crumbles to dust beneath each nibble, and suck, and kiss. heart rate quickens drastically, head bowing fervently against kaneki like he's praying. satoru's body has warmed and he holds his partner now, desperately tight. ❛❛ we're- really bad, at this— secret relationship thh-ing. ❜❜
the invitation was given through the vibration of bass. only if you were a curse would you hear it speaking to you through the private frequency of monsters. the distant vibration takes them through the puzzle of a condemned subway platform, long abandoned and left to the company of rats. there's enough graffiti hear to inspire generations & a tunnel with the maw of a movie-like chasm; within, where the ceiling reaches into darkness and industrial pillars drown into unknown depths, there is a neon sign. it flickers in pinks, reds, a toxic green that says: WELCOME TO EVERYWHERE ANYWHERE. water drips when his masked head turns, when all heads accompany and guarding the door turn, to the strange little guest he's brought along with him this time. oh yes, six eyes can come with. there's no problem with that, is there?
no problem at all. come right in. the air smells a bit metallic and there's not a spec of organic blood. he can smell the other thing too: dance sweat, rave whiskey & artificial blood. the mood is intense rather than celebratory; curses didn't know how to relax, they knew how to pine and hunt and flirt with danger. they knew how to scrawl their poetry on the walls and cope with the world above by making this the space to unravel. some are lone ghouls making peace with the substitute whiskey. some, aogiri sympathisers hoping to go unnoticed. independent mercs and scavengers, former nightmares, college-aged curses high on drugs knowing the one-eyed was watching over them. his own oddly scented guest is stared at, watched dubiously, suspected and magnetising, but he is left alone to drink in favour of what curses could truly enjoy with the one-eyed ghoul.
he is swarmed quickly with a growing number of bodies surrounding him. masked faces staring back, masks that made them one, pincers for arms and vampiric teeth and red eyes glittering with expectation. their personal arts, that they are forced to wear for anonymity and a brief glimpse of fun. it's a bittersweet thing, this suffocating atmosphere that is at once his freedom. they drink him up and think him a saint. they wonder who his companion is until they realise with horror and confusion, unable to voice it, stifling it & absorbing it with startled awe. they stare and stare but his own hard gaze merely swerves when it feels the cold lick of a phantom tongue up along his spine—
no, those were just his eyes, those blue eyes, watching him intently over the rim of a sweating glasss. he stares back with the insolent confidence that affirmed, he was not the prey in this scene. he was a careful promise of teeth behind a muzzle. he was a single scowl that could strip paint from the walls and bend low the eyes that watch him save for the one he desired in truth. a standoff of red and blue, until they understand through a frequency of their own that excluded all others: each vibration spelling out a longwinded invitation that he understands before it needs to finish. the nightclub is left behind until he materialises through the wall in a silent burst of shadows. an alleyway, fresh air, night sky & the possibility of rain. they collide in the middle.
❛ good and patient? ❜ one of the first things that occur to him in the proceeding daze of hunger is that his mouth has somehow been freed. when a kiss comes down over his mouth, and his body is held and grabbed in ways that made his blood flush up to his face, he becomes aware of his own aching teeth to the point of mouth watering pain. ❛ you’ve—mhm, barely... ❜
it takes an obsessive tongue to force his lips open so he returns it with a low groan in his throat, but more than that, the metal teeth of his mask attempt to eat where he holds his own back. he can smell where they dig into satoru’s mouth & split it, how his skin suffers and repairs itself within seconds, how it tempts him with the briefest taste of his mouth that he’s fed on between slippery kisses. his hand has taken an obvious interest to splay over the skin of satoru’s chest. ❛ and so what if they did? ❜ unbuttoned down to his stomach now, with the wind ever so gently ruffling through it. ❛ what could they do? ❜ maybe intentional, this bait, but it worked well with this monster. there is an equally ambitious hand sliding down the line of his own knobbly spine and searching for skin, a mischief he responds to bodily with a hard shudder. ❛ stop us? satoru. ❜
there’s a gasp in his mouth when his hair is fisted and pulled, which ensues a stiff fight of limbs, an inhuman hiss; he reacts by squirming and twisting, to digging his nails forward & refusing distance, even as he is held as close as one could be to getting crushed. hunger roils in him, as if he’d snap his teeth in if satoru’s hold softened for even a moment. mouth watering and eyes unfocused in their dizzy craving, he is at some point freed. held close, his mouth and mask scrap against the skin of satoru’s neck. there’s hard lines and muscles under his palm, soft fair hair where his other arm ribbons around satoru’s neck. he tugs him closer and feels his eyes flutter shut, tastes blood flood his mouth and feels his own boil with a suffocating desire.
eventually, when he does pull back between a groan & a hiss, it’s after enjoying the incoherent satisfaction of hearing the six eyed sorcerer pant and bow his head with bliss over a curse, as if weakened by something as simple as— this.
kaneki’s mask at last slides off, hangs around his mouth, and his real mouth is red and soft from greed. unlike humans and sorcerers, and gods, curses like him didn’t quiver. didn’t know how to step back and hesitate modestly. he instead stepped closer, his eyes unblinking, touch as silky as his hair. the discomfort of the club’s attention on him dwindled; what did it matter now that he was alone with him, & for a moment the world was theirs? ❛ you’re bad at this. ❜ was this a scolding, or a taunt? or, a rouse to get a reaction? he pulled at the open front of satoru’s shirt, gave it a tug. the hand on his own back was sliding down his spine. he pressed his waist closer, right where he thought satoru was warmest. he pushed up on his toes. friction, horrible friction. a sigh— his hand was somehow, disastrously, acting of its own accord, taking down a zipper in the dark. ❛ but— everything can be so much worse. ❜ couldn’t it? did it matter? he was licking his fingers clean of satoru’s blood, he was asking him things with those same stand-off eyes that he shouldn’t.
going to watch phm today 🙂↕️ and afterwards i’m touching grass with some friends and watching apex tournaments 🤍
working on some drafts in the bg but in the meantime i want to throw more muses out there so linking my meme tag here and also yelling about my voice test muses!
also sorry to be insane but adding radagon to voice-test (again).
they were in every way that mattered already married. matching tempers (though they always had that, their usual back and forth matured now, emotionally charged), and limbs that anticipated and bent to make way for the complementary set. ada expected leon's anger from the outside, knew it was rooted in care and love, and tried her best to soothe it, a futile effort. she'd never been a sweet talker, never the angelic sort; just a bundle of well-meaning flaws, strengths, a torrent he nevertheless wanted anyway. ego both bruised and amused, blood seeping, she'd looked him right in the eye and tried to go for something blasé. not because she didn't take this seriously, but because she still, in her good age, did not quite know how to wear vulnerability with grace. not when it was real, anyway. yet she didn't need to be perfect for leon, he only wanted transparency.
❛ oh— fine, fine. take it. ❜ he saw straight through her, and didn't waste time at all, didn't wait for her permission as he grabbed hold of her thigh, lifting it, battle-worn eyes examining gore. the cut hurt like a bitch, a pain that licked hot down her legs as she was forced to slow down, stubborn dregs of adrenaline her only solace. and his hands, his well-meaning chides. proof that she'd put down roots and had a basis in the real world. the spy watched as crimson stained his clothes, and her lips pursed a little, twitching down, a characteristic, subtle version of a frown. she reached forth, well-manicured and now well-bloodied fingers drifting along his collarbone.
❛ it's nothing personal, hun. i just didn't expect to lose. ❜ then, quieter, a rare concession that he'd been right, and she'd been wrong: ❛ but i have—for now. serves me right. i needed you all along. mad at me? ❜ he couldn't be, not for long. licking her lips, she found that her mouth was slightly dry and longed for water. one balm at a time, though. leon's care to her wound bore fruit; she felt better about it all at once, no groaning dread of future infection, only the very realistic throb and the appreciation that came when he did these things for her.
apparently satisfied with his work, he fixed his hand around her wrist, and continued to talk, letting his griefs and devotion be known to her and the surrounding rubble all the while. she watched him as he shifted, standing too, taking the helping hand, eyes on him and ears tuned in. and the spy made to move once on her feet, to walk alongside leon, an independent thing even when stabbed through. but her knees buckled, a weakness clearly predicted if the arm swiftly swung about her waist was any indication. she huffed a dry laugh. ❛ cute. ❜
if she knew leon at all, he'd waited right then to teach her a lesson. approval sat in her stomach as they pressed close. when the revelation came, she'd registered his surprise, and he, inches away with her neck cradled in his grip, would see her own. alarm, then begrudging respect, paranoia and determination. the wyvern gun. the not so safe safe house. the sound that came from ada wong next was a groan and a sigh both. was she losing her edge? or perhaps the universe had spat up something truly challenging at last, and they could tear it apart together. ❛ great! guess we have a fan, leon. and we'd better check your weapons, too. if he's following me... ❜ then he's probably following you. her mind was exhausted, but it tried to work through suspects then, dozens of dead faces flicking past internally. she dismissed them one by one, but something didn't feel right. ❛ you said you saw him. what'd he look like? ❜ she asked, her breathing still a fraction unsteady, sweat at her brow. there had to be other people involved; her gut, not her pride, told her to expect at least two bastards, one guilty for subtle thieving and another for explosions and shrapnel with a keen interest in her thigh.
❛ oh, good, ❜ he starts, gravelly and all, his disapproval still far too apparent when pinching his face together like this. ❛ only took a bullet to the leg to figure that one out. ❜ but the pit of discontent in his chest stretched far beyond his personal disagreements with ada, and to the fact also, that someone had gotten the drop on her. he had never thought it entirely possible. it said less about her skill, which was unparalleled for as long as he had known her, & more about the rigid determination of whoever was chasing them. they had meticulously planned it out, and he thought the realisation must have occurred to him at the same time that it occurred it her: the only reason it had succeeded this far, had to be because they knew her.
naturally, he’d caught her around her waist as soon as she made to stand. thinking it would go as smoothly as just that, walking away a stab wound to the leg, she crumples into his side and pays the price for it a moment later. he says nothing to reprimand her this time, but uses the strength of his arm around her to prop her upright instead. carrying almost all of her weight to spare her the effort of putting any more pressure on her leg than what was necessary.
❛ easy— i got you. ❜ slowly, she was turned into him. smoke at their back and the building all too quiet for a moment. he looked down after scouring their surroundings, & with his thumb, wiped away a spec of sweat from her brow. ashen, but colour was coming back to her cheeks slowly. she was exhausted but attentive still, her voice unbothered through it all. ❛ got him in the upper arm, probably crawled back to where he came from. we can track him while he’s down. ❜ leon had got the shooting arm too. whatever plans this mysterious nobody had were temporarily put on halt. this gave them a momentary edge to chart their way forward.
after a moment, watching her breath out stiffly and speak, he brushed his fingertips just past the line of her jaw. an ache, spreading slowly in its haunting at the centre of his palm, felt amiss to him when touching her. craning his head down, he clipped her mouth in a kiss. then, he moved the caress to the spot between her brows.
❛ a real piece of shit. dark hair, six foot, thirties maybe. from around here if i had to guess. a hired gun? the information he had to get to you— ❜ a restless breath. had someone betrayed her? had she been watched? with another shake of his head, he leaned down & slid his arm behind her legs. careful of the wounded one, he picked her up off the floor, at least as long as she would let him, and until he’d gotten her up the set of stairs and rubble. ❛ we’re sitting ducks out here. call claire, we need a different safe house. ❜
tacos and lemonade, and a teasing dance with red hood that now felt second-nature. the rubbery smell of the booth, the way it squeaked with their weight every time they shifted, and the clamor of cooks somewhere arguing did not touch jesse. and jason seemed just as thoroughly unbothered. the food was good, filling. their legs were touching under the table like a challenge and a promise. and jesse both watched and listened as jason took the out she'd inadvertently given him, the conversational escape route. should've known he'd be so cheeky. wasn't he always?
the speedster wasn't pissed, not even close, but she gave him a little kick beneath the table, anyway, a swat as her skin warmed, contact meant to jostle, not harm. her mouth quirked, eyes of the studious scholar and ceo flicking over him while he sat back in the booth. there it was again: the squeaking noise of the seat. the environment had almost comical timing! her subtle smile broke into a grin for exactly 3 seconds, then smoothed into something neutrally content for speech. ❛ easy, i'd hate to put you on your ass in front of grandma and grandpa, ❜ booth number 6, just to the left. they were wearing their church finest and couldn't hear jesse at all. she tipped her foot a little to the side, a jolt going down her spine at the brush of contact he lent her. touch held so much power. she hadn't known until she'd met him. or maybe she had, and she spent a good chunk of her life running, too afraid to melt in someone's palm. well, here's for melting.
❛ you know what i'm talking about. ❜ duh. jesse's other leg, not captive, shifted suddenly, and his pants leg slid an inch up his calf as she nudged it. ❛ and yep, i do, so, once a week at least. that too much for you to handle? think about it and reach out to my people. we can try my place next time. you cook. ❜ fully a jest between them. he hardly needed to put in a notice; they were comfortable enough with each other to justify jason simply showing up.
noting that some of the food was still untouched, (she'd had enough herself— her appetite was vast, but not limitless) jesse fondly suggested he try the churros. he was full, though. clearly. and most definitely distracted, if the press of limbs beneath the table was any indication. jesse kept her blue eyes on him as she finished off her lemonade, a lapse of just a few seconds, and said, amusement in her tone, no longer the ceo but some lovesick, hypocritical thing who'd come to reap her own proclamations:
❛ suit yourself— guess that's a no on a to-go box? ❜ the server, kind but bored, looked their way, head turning at the sound of minimum wage trigger words, but didn't approach; someone else flagged them down, pulling their attention. the couple that was not a couple teased uncontested, then, uninterrupted. for now. ❛ care to tell me what exactly i need to focus for? ❜
beneath the table of the booth they were sharing, their legs were busy in a prompt match of kick and push. when he felt her boot slide up his calf, and retaliate with a light kick, he returned it by nudging her ankle back with his own. on the surface however, his face was pulled back with mock surprise. he set his cheek into his palm and poured every bit of sarcasm that he could into his words. ❛ nah, i don’t— what are you talking about? would love to know. ❜ then he leaned back and sprawled an arm over the headrest of his own booth seat, & did the other thing she found exceptionally funny: never rising to the ego bait, he shrugged and took the fall.
❛ too much. i’ll curl up in a corner and die on my own, thanks. ❜ then he blew a breath, used two fingers to quickly shoot himself right at the temple. ❛ ‘reach out to my people’. put your pr exec cosplay away, i only give my interview dance card to brunettes. ❜ he reached out and stole a fry from her plate, & munched on it with considerably less enthusiasm than what he’d started with, but the taste was nice and nagging her was a close second fulfilment for his gluttony.
between egregiously slow chewing and feeling the comfortably draw towards an inconveniently timed nap, he glanced out the window at the rare but familiar sight of gotham nearing sundow. maybe it would rain soon, drown it all in greys. maybe he’d feel the chill of a clouded skyline, or maybe he’d be in her bed, tangled to warmth any sane person would want to suffocate on, when it smelled like her.
❛ no, no, let’s take it home. old man won’t like it if we just toss it to waste anyway. ❜ he turned back to her then, back to his own body and mind. he shook his head with the shift & leaned forward again, arms folded across the table, staring at her. ❛ uhm, the day ahead, your night-time routine, yoga. i mean think about it — i’m about to make a dick joke — turning me into a churro won’t help you focus. ❜ he felt it before he’d finished speaking. her boot crashed right into his leg. he took it as a win and snapped his fingers. jason, two dick jokes : jesse, one and a half. ❛ gotcha’. alright, let’s scram, ❜ he said, and half way to shuffling out of the booth, his fingers wrapped around hers carefully at their sides; with a look, she was close to him and his bike keys were spinning noisily around his index. ❛ i’m sick because of you and i want a nap. ❜
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the whole brooding loner routine wouldn't have been her first choice. all their doom and gloom warnings weren't for nothing, they owed favors to all the wrong people. the kinda bastards that were not strangers to finding ways to obtain leverage. phira wasn't top of the food chain by any means, a small fish in a big pond, but she had enough celebrity that whatever it was they were doing here wouldn't go unnoticed eitan and his lackeys. linking the two together wasn’t exactly the everyday sort of pr crisis, it could very well be a deathwish so they had thought of bailing. by all means it was the safest option but they didn't do well with neat boundaries and restrictions; it only made them want to tear at their confines more. so she showed up, consequences nipping at her heels but it was worth it for the look on her face right now; eyes brighter than this whole neon hellscape they called home.
eager wasn't good, eager meant there wasn't going to be a way out of this. leave it to alex to still be looking for a backdoor escape after putting herself right in the path of siren. no, her song went to the bone and it wasn't dislodged without leaving its teeth in you. ❛ yeah, well i didn’t come for the music, i came for the view – nice setup you have up here. ❜ not that she hadn't enjoyed the show, just maybe not for the right reasons. not a hint of nerves on stage but the persona cracks ever-so slightly when the merc pulls into her orbit.
❛ you read a lot of those? hot books, i mean, i had a feeling you were a little freak. it’s always the sweet-lookin’ ones, isn’t it... ❜ no way she hadn't realized that she walked right into that one, alex was only ever an opportunist. the image it conjured wasn't displeasing either; text playing across the back of her eyelids, hair splayed over her pillow, a burgeoning flower as her breathe grew more staggered... that's where their train of thought crashes and they're forced to recalibrate — to find some reason, at least for the next few minutes or so. ❛ plus, you attract some real weirdos so can you blame me for keeping tabs? i think you got enough of that attention already. ❜ she is ready to add to this consideration, thumb pressing into the slope of her hip on one side with her fingers grazing just below the skirt's meager length.
❛ so, you do get worked up out there in your little outfits, cute. ❜ pressing into her with the generous swell of her chest. it would be a pretty damning view if she looked down then but they are more fixated on the way phira's mouth quirks upward as she does her best attempt at teasing. ❛ i’ve definitely tripped for less but you look like a soft place to land so i think i can risk it. just don’t get used to it, i'm not exactly known for ‘nice', phi. ❜ despite playing hard to get, they really weren't difficult to catch. at least not once the predicament of distance was dealt with. since getting clean there were few highs left that match that particular mind-numbing ecstasy but slotting her mouth over the parted softness of the singer's comes close. they aren't neat about it, a tongue already slipped past her teeth and her hand had a fist full of her skirt and then some. after weeks of keeping themselves from killing their contract with contact all the rules diminished then.
their parting is a wet and breathless ordeal, they bite at the excess lipgloss that had transferred in the kiss. ❛ gotta shower back there? i can help you get all that glitter off. ❜ a sweat-damps strand of pink hair is tucked behind her ear then and with it alex catches a few flecks of shine on her thumb. they were going to be seeing this stuff everywhere for weeks anyway might as well make a good memory out of the constant reminder.
so use to losing in this playing field, it took her a moment to realise it had worked. she kept her megawatt grin from blinding alex on the spot and stifled it by pursing her lips. she spoke in small bursts, whispered now with the queasy crawl of desire in her stomach. ❛ oh yeah, i’m sure you did. ❜ would it kill them to admit they might have come for her? possibly. their half-lidded portrait of inexpressive amusement was still a barrier to read through. that was coming from a siren, who had to survive celebrity city by reading people as part of business. a laugh fumbles out of her. she hadn’t been expecting it, but it brings her private life stuttering into view; books that were becoming decor during busy tour months, hot & cheesy romance novels that kept her company when the room got too lonely. she felt her face flare more, a hand swatting the merc’s shoulder. not like that, she was saying, but in truth: it was quite like that.
she also wasn’t going to explain or defend the controversial discourse around some of the fantasies she had been entertaining, courtesy of one equally controversial merc in her sphere...
❛ shut up. ❜ another swat, though they had a tendency to wind up closer with each attempt to push apart. she was against them now, arms around their neck & their hand, not to stealthily sneaking up her skirt. ❛ they’ve got plot, okay— and you have no idea what they even mean, do you. hot books. come on, alex. ❜ she noticed it keenly, felt it keenly, saw the awareness of it reflected in her eyes by what she saw in theirs. her breath spent itself slowly, knee bending to caress the line of their pant leg. things were progressing faster than she could quip back at them, but it doesn’t stop her lidded stare from weighing so heavily on each little flick of change in their face.
she feels flustered being read back, the flare in her stomach reaching her throat, but she doesn’t buck away. ❛ mhmm. maybe. after all this... aren’t you? ❜ there’s also not enough time to overthink it. tripped for less? soft, or easy? she wavers briefly but it’s rectified by the warm press of a mouth on hers. a tongue slides against her own and she meets it with the gradual rise of her chest, breath expelling sweetly and a soft noise courtesy of the hand grabbing a lot more of her than just her skirt. she feels herself smirk against the kiss, dangling like dew in more ways than one, & sighs happily when their lips part. ❛ oh, that’s real chivalrous. come here. ❜ her head is slow to nod, licking at her own bottom lip for the taste of them; then she pulls close again, hair tucked away by their fingers, and kisses them fleetingly while pulling on the collar of alex’s shirt.
❛ shh. this way, gorgeous. ❜ with bounce to her step, she reluctantly steps out of alex’s grip and half-drags them to the comfort of her dressing room. make up sprawled over the vanity, mirrors glittering with lights, outfits strewn about because she’d changed her mind about the mesh top a hundred times. & just past the storage there was a small bathroom with a shower affixed, easily someplace to lock them both behind. her manager could deal with the rest. a giggle gets out of her by the time she’s pressed alex back against the door. she hangs there a moment, breathing hard, thinking about kissing them before she entwines fingers with them instead. then, pulling away, she tosses back her hair and ignores the tangle of butterfly hair clips and glitter splotches to peel her top off instead. discarding it to the floor, she reaches for their shirt next and knocks noses with them. ❛ can i take this off? pretty please? ❜
james stared at oliver, grey eyes seeming to darken as he pressed ever closer; the bard would find himself nudged back, trapped between tree and shorter companion, james's hands hovering for a while before his right palm splayed flat over oliver's heart. the thumping he felt was comforting, a steady sign of life. and when the beating increased, picking up fervor, he smiled, mouth twitching helplessly, feeling a rush of delight and undeniable power. it always excited him, to see his influence over oliver. his own insides were always twisted up by want when it came to the other, he felt always at risk of keeling over in utter love. it warmed him right up, to see his feelings reflected. even scant displays of it. there was nothing he wouldn't lap up.
but @yharnum was oblivious. he only seemed to act true to his heart when his thoughts were slowed; the drinks they shared made their blood hazy, made everything warm, confidence surging. james wasn't a fool; but nor would he indulge his doubt. all night, his nerves had been alight, every brush of their fingers, every heavy-lidded look and smile and grasp building his hopes heavens' high.
❛ couldn't you? —... what have you been doing all night, oliver? ❜ hand flexing against oliver's chest, he seemed to edge closer, his chin turned up ever so slightly. above, the moon and stars. the lights shone reflected on the grass. some chatter still echoed about them, celebrations that hadn't yet died out. james swallowed, throat bobbing. ❛ all your touches, your looks. the lovely song. the smiles. what was that if not seduction? you are beautiful, i only wish you saw it. ❜ not a break in his intensity, but a warming of it. james smoothed his hand down oliver's chest, flattening imagery wrinkles. to hell with the fire and the drink and the smiles. all james saw was him.
a small, invisible bubble formed around them. this was the simpler magic that james had always been so aptly capable of and that oliver quietly envied: suspending oliver to moments of peace and comfort, where the rest of the world might melt away. a childhood habit of longing in his heart, thudding away and betraying his secrets to the only one who might listen to them to begin with. he smiled nervously. as james stepped closer, tender and knightly, he swallowed a little to himself & held his breath. however quiet he had thought to keep his affections all this while were rendered moot.
the events of the last few weeks and their precarious situation with the infected tadpole had made it feel meaningless. what did it matter, if they might possibly die soon or become mindless puppets? the dread of that alone had perhaps spelled out his impulses, and james, quick as ever, had caught on. ❛ i have—? ❜ he thought of it then, all the glances, the looks & the lingering brush of hands. perhaps he had. the mischievous knowledge of that made his smile tug upwards more ridiculously. a few months ago at the academy and he would have seen such blatant confidence as punching above his own weight. yet here he was, indulging it if not outright encouraging it with the light in his eyes. ❛ you noticed, did you? ❜
the hand against his chest flexed, and his breath expanded with it, as if it were on strings. he felt james smooth down his vest and, tugging at the sudden tightness of his doublet’s collar, he flushed with a quiet delight at being noticed. appraised meaningfully, even.
❛ seduction... i had not in mind to seduce you, when i wrote that song thinking of you. rather perhaps, ❜ he said, [a confession! the song of sweet longing, all for him] raising a hand & setting the hilt of his palm to james’ soft cheek. ❛ that it was i who was seduced. charmed, even, i always have been. though, you could not pretend you did not know. you always knew, a little bit. ❜ he sighed heavily, felt his fingers clench and release. their heads brushed together and he stepped closer, invading his space. ❛ didn’t you? ❜
[41.] august being told to open her mouth and doing it before kassandra’s sentence is finished. (sorry about her)
stages of intimacy, accepting. | ft. @yharnum
as much as august learned to trust kassandra's ship, she enjoyed the steady ground of the earth just a tad bit more. the inherent truth in this was that the thing august trusted most about the ocean was kassandra, and being there with her, and knowing that her trust was rewarded with safety and joy; it had little to do with the actual element of the ocean. there was something to be said about the confined quarters of kassandra's cabin, narrow and cozy, and how handsome kass was in the low light of the lamp while the sea was hidden behind the hull of the ship and they were on their own, just the two of them, nights and days of travel to spend time on. but even so, august had missed being under the roof of an actual house, in the presence of the land's well-known noises, the look of people milling around, conducting the businesses of their days, the welcome familiarity of her own house. kass had always somehow fit her way through the doorway, with the real talent of someone with so much tenacity it was a problem sometimes but mostly just reason to swoon for august, and reasons for that she had enough. the woman she loved may had been meant for the sea first, but now she was also meant for, wrapped around august like vine, or stone to moss, and august wouldn't let go now. not with an actual, immovable bed so close at their disposal. it were the little things, weren't they?
there was not one more capable pair of hands to hold onto her, august knew, as she trusted kass with nothing more than her body either. it was best when august could feel their hearts beat in tandems, her hands grabbing at kass's back and her strong shoulders, fingers curling down around her strong biceps, while kass carried her through the kitchen and to the living room with the memory of someone who had done so before - and who could blame her, blame them? the floor would do, even as much as the bed upstairs, and august all but wrapped her hands around kassandra's waist where she was carried through one doorframe, then another, kass reading her mind in a way that stopped freaking august out when she was warm all over, heat spreading through her limbs, her legs tingling where kass was holding onto her thigh, her touch so close to being where it should be. oh, this was madness, the kind the great poets lamented and wrote about, but august quite enjoyed it, to feel her body hoisted around by kassandra, and then sit down in her lap where she found the sofa after all and not the floor, and august could press her hips down against her lover's thighs as if this would do the job. maybe, with enough desperation in her veins, it would. she would eagerly try to find out if kassandrs wouldn't move.
the moment she felt kass's hand in her hair, lifting her head up to look at her, august felt the warmth inside of her intensify and ratchet up a notch. arousal was zapping through her, down from the centre of her and all the way through her, when their eyes met. she moved her hips in accordance against kassandra's thigh, finding friction, happy that she didn't wear pants today. the skirt she wore was already rucked up at the back, something august didn't notice until now, where she fisted a handful of the long flowing material and pulled it further up, leaning into kassandra's chest like she was starving for every bit of her. ( well . . . ) when kass asked her to open her mouth, her hand having moved to august's face, she did so before the other could even finish. there was nothing of sense coursing through her, only stupid and loving want, and she wanted kassandra to get any part of her on august, inside of her, as soon as possible - and lapped against kass's fingers with her tongue were they caught at her bottom lip. the next thing she'd do would be to plead, and she felt no shame about resorting to that either, not when she knew kassandra would listen.
her tunic was split open from the centre, the rugged carelessness of a pirate off duty. in the comfort of a home she had made her own too, with a pretty thing on her lap, prettier noises to boot. august was now marked over the skin of her neck by the mercenary’s teeth in an earlier outburst of possessive longing. a very minor aggression had taken root in kassandra’s heart where all she wanted, and all she could do, was press her lover’s body to wall & ravish her with wanton appraisal and kisses. each stifled laugh she could draw out of hers was worth storing to memory, and each baffled but breathless exhale was a victory she would chase again and again. this woman was all hers, every rasping sound that she made, every curve of her body she had, and every trusting look she could spear kassandra dead with.
but, a woman as beautiful as her lover, could be trapped and jostled against a wall only for so long. no, she and her dress deserved a little more decorum than being groped and kissed senseless standing. and so, that had led to kassandra carrying her one-armed to where they were now, all the while that her other hand slid up her leg and skirts. settled, and reclined lazily where she held august by hair and waist, she grinned at her ferociously. her body aligned over kassandra’s thigh, which she had begun to roll her waist into, and skirts were pulled up hastily to accommodate; and the front of her dress, mischievously unbuttoned from all her incessant pawing, made her blood sing. she felt the gradual heat in her gut serrate her insides the longer she looked at her chest, the slow rise & fall of them, the softness of her skin as it flushed over the breadth of her breasts. painful. egregiously pretty.
comfortably, she gave a firm tug of the blonde hair tangled in her fingertips. by now she could feel the steady wetness gathering between her lover’s legs, the further along she rubbed against her thigh with a steady determination; and her own too, of course, near dazed with lust and love for the one in front of her alone. she was a demanding creature, & acted as much; tugging her lover’s head to hold her in place, until her lips parted for her preciously and obediently, and without reluctance, she pressed two fingers into the waiting mouth to stuff it full. after a moment, she gave another careful tug, hearing the soft but unsteady string of pleas arrive to her satisfaction, and this close, she could brush her mouth over a flushed cheek with a gnawing satisfaction.
❛ gooood— ah, good girl. there you are. ❜ she kissed her then, briefly withdrawing her fingers, a thrill of adoration. then she pressed them back in, further & further until she was able to hear exactly what she wanted: that soft, stumbling noise, where she choked faintly and with some surprise. when she retracted her fingers a second time, she grinned with a shameless heat to her face and heart, and caressed august’s cheeks, which had grown considerably red. ❛ you are so beautiful, it fucking pains me. ❜ her lips were on her mouth before she properly finished. now it was time for her hands to move, though she kept one in august’s hair tightly. ❛ i’m going to eat you up, until all you can think about— is how good you feel. ❜
palm over her throat and chest, tugging down the front of her dress, and her mouth at her nipples, & this dress valiantly battled away long enough for her thumb to find the focal point of her wet heat— it might have felt that her movements were hurried, but kassandra couldn’t feel more at ease with this slow uncovering. each time she was given this, where she could hold her and kiss her and rub her thumb in delicious circles where it mattered, elicit a surrender to impulses (when else did august allow herself this?), she felt the throttling desire to find out every little thing she could about her. what better way to start than by helping her hips roll, and making her breath catch? ❛ my sweet, let me hear you. ❜
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🌺 Send this to ten blogs you think are wonderful! 🌺 ( obsessed with this torture sphere 😩 if we kissed with tongue do u think i could get half your talent? )
if we kissed with tongue I’M taking half your talent and #flowstate poetry that’s the only way i’m getting that coin bag thank you!!!
the sad part is i can see leda entertaining romantic relationships or close companionships either: before she becomes a zealot for miquella, or when she’s under his charm.
i’m just going to come out and say that miquella’s charm imo is not the usual brainwashed trope. she is not being controlled. she has agency over her actions and decisions. however, her personality is being influenced greatly, to the point where her traits are being supplanted by false characteristics. she’s compelled towards kindness and care as per miquella’s design, two things that are overriding her bloodlust.
you have to understand that she likes who she is when she’s charmed and it’s why she is devastated when the charm breaks. she likes this version of her that’s graceful, kind, trusting and a good person and she would stringently think that it is this version of her that can achieve something close to love and friendship. i think this is also why she just, thoughtlessly accepts the tarnished. she is unable to be suspicious because of the charm and welcomes the tarnished open handedly.
the second the charm is off? she is back to who she really is, the person she has gone unfathomable lengths to subdue. she is someone who does not comprehend that there is another way or why ansbach would fight against this supposedly brilliant charm to be authentic. and that zealotry, that narrow-mindedness hopelessness, is why she turns on everyone. not just the tarnished but her own travelling companions. and even the elite needle knights miquella himself chose.
it'd seem they were, in equal shares, gluttons for desire and despair. as evidenced by the artful glint of her smile, edging towards him like the point of a blade— spoiled from his bleeding confessions, and yet no less poised to twist him for more. a gentleman might have been shocked by the contrived tantrums of a such a well-bred lady, and certainly abhorred her hidden delight over one so debased in his affection; and yet— though koschei grew silent, eyes narrowed and vexed— he could not deny @yharnum had cleaved his heart bare in the act. the rotten thing felt as if it would pry open it's leathery, blood-rooted coat. wound through the air. follow her anywhere. for he could not have found a more perfect match nor adored her any more than by the charm of her treacheries. driven always by love or some other madness twin to his own.
❛❛ just you . . . ❜❜ he echoes, almost amused, despite the pervading melancholy of the matter. ❛❛ — and how harmless you are. ❜❜ promising he would not be hunted while she speaks to him with all the honeyed offerings of a sundew. determined to both quell her loneliness and make the cup of her hand his final resting ground. just tonight, she says, though it would doubtlessly become several more. for both their sakes, he's already decided not to fall for the idea, but —
❛❛ i could stay for a dream. ❜❜ fretting a stray curl away from her dark brow, the upyr comes to graze and linger over the quickening flush at her ear, marveling at how her blood rushes to answer his every touch. ❛❛ will you tell me about one of yours ? ❜❜ it'd be a welcomed distraction, where he laments to admit that in all his dreaming and nightmaring alike, he settles too frequently on the thought of how easy it'd be to pierce and peel her like the skin of a fruit.
❛❛ i've often wondered how i might kiss you there. ❜❜ perhaps sweetly ? as any other marmaladed man from the ton would, if given the chance he had now? koschei could be terribly sweet. especially when his mouth finally bends to meet and consume hers as though it were a feather-light thing, burning slowly at the edges. but he knows her heart better, and too quickly comes a need for the contrary; the urge to grasp firmly at her hair, sink his kisses down through the center column of her throat, her collar, her sternum — where he then has the delirious suggestion of undoing the strings of her nightgown with his teeth.
❛❛ no, no, that can't be right. ❜❜ he murmurs in a taunting retreat, ❛❛ a london girl like you would never dream of that. ❜❜ the affront is punctuated by the weeping sleeve he sets chaste, and a crooked smile — which wonders if she may reconsider his not being hated here. however briefly.
harmless, her eyes seemed to say, widening with acceptance of a naive and foolish name. yes, but of course; she could be harmless as a herb, harmless without all those toxins, harmless as long as she was party to the very thing rotting his veins. she could know the ins and outs of his bloodstream and reach the palace where decisions were made. find a lever, pull it hard as a brute, & wash him with the perfume she preferred. with the way her eyes moved innocuously and with no shortage of mischief, she sought to make it appear as if her desire for his company was a small thing. what couldn’t a man with his focus afford? yet he is privy to her duplicitous mouth, how she softens words with cunning and intention, to make it appear as if the very idea had been his own to begin with.
perhaps she has endured the company of self serving men for far too long, & acts out of habit, anticipating their moves. perhaps he is no less self serving but he has what they had not: unparalleled obsession, and its white-light focus settled on her face. this is what she finds herself unfamiliar with as they play.
distractedly she heeds him. her eyes have become fascinated once more by the way his mouth hovers and moves so close to her own. she is sound of speech yet her body betrays her with minor transgressions; the blood has reached her ears, & warms each tender bit of skin that his wandering hand caresses. even her hair, which is a dark black from her father, appears to her reddish now in the dim light. biting her lower lip briefly, farah thinks back on her dreams. ❛ i could, but i may not have the words. it is not the sort of dream to endear you to me. ❜ but she suspects he knows the contents of her most unladylike turmoils, if by the way he is hardly discouraged from seeking her out after the fact.
❛ have you? in your dreams, do you— ❜ her words stagger like a shot knee. his mouth curtains over her own suddenly, & her hands jump from where she had folded them at the small of her back. her spine presses into the wall and her fingers curl into the sleeves of his shirt. but no sooner had she begun to kiss back, reaching on the tips of her toes and gasping into his sweet and delirious mouth, that he thinks to pull away from her at all. a london girl, he says, and her mind snaps erratically; what did he know of london girls to speak of them in such a way? her brow furrows, vexed by the taunt he had no doubt intended to startle her with.
finally, farah steps closer, then past him, her shoulder knocking into his on her way. her voice when she speaks is untouched by the acidic annoyance she truly feels, bright & unburdened as if he were her favourite fool to gossip with. ❛ oh, are you sure it’s london girls you’re thinking of? and not your girls from surrey? or blackpool? god, they’re so dull. ❜ she whirls on him now, pulling the satin fabric of her night gown close, her arms folded. ❛ ah, but all you gentlemen in london have a taste for scraps. how could i blame you, my love? ❜
with a bounce of her shoulders, utter glee, she grins at him with no shortage of spite. then, warningly as the short distance between them burns rather than cools: ❛ kostya, i can play this game all night. ❜
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