Full of writing and anime shenanigans. Call me Weirdo! 20 years old. Writing dark behaviors/themes and sometimes NSFW, which will be tagged and/or put undercut. (+18 MDNI, blogs without listed ages will be blocked!)
Writing for the following fandoms (May/will update):
Anime/Manga;
Hellsing Ultimate (Writing everyone, except Major & Enico Maxwell), The God of Highschool, Blood Lad,
Blue Exorcist/Ao no Exorcist (Writing everyone, except Satan), That Time I Got Reincarnated As A Slime, Record of Ragnarök (Writing Ragnarök champions, all humans & Gods, except Zeus.)
Videogames/RPG/Gacha;
Neural Cloud (Only playable Dolls), Cookies Run: Kingdom (No NPCs), Arknights (Only Operators),
Epic Seven, The Battle Cats (Only Uber Super Rares), Onmyoji (Writing all playable Shikigami and Onmyoji), Mega Man (Writing all series, excludes MM Legends & Starforce)
I am, just no motivation at the moment. Hopefully, I will get back up soon, real busy the next couple of weeks. Gonna be moving a few states over to a new home.
A gift, lent as a succulent stroke of intimate teeth. Some pierce you like needles, others gentle as a summer breeze. Under your flushed skin, through ravaged clothes and wrinkled sheets; a reddening irritation. Personal, physical remembrance.
God's indulgence is an honor of the highest bidder, a once-in-a-lifetime blessing amongst mere mortals. Addicts crave it, fools reject it, and you welcome it.
Bitter but serving, defiant yet devoted, loving though possessive. How the gods above, below, and in between love no means are equal. The higher Pantheons have never been so considerably consistent.
Their spirits burn for you, suffocating. Breathtaking. The race doesn't stop until someone reaches the finish line, Heaven itself can throw their stones but will all sunk into the deafening weight of the pond.
Although the masters of their craft hide their deeper yearning behind carefully molded masks, their silk-touched mouths burn hotter than any existing blaze on Earth. No surface safe from their tongues. Scorching, seething, bubbling a forbidden desire in your nerves. Licked off your fingers, suckling on your nibbled nape.
Encarved in the binding form of a mark on willing flesh, you become God's ambrosia.
From Poseidon, Hades, Buddha and Loki.
Poseidon bites to infectiously possess you.
To ruin you, claim you, punish you.
Cure the strange urge you somehow awakened within the beast, the Kraken is never easily tamed, no dark calamity of the sea is.
While it's usually more content with ripping out your throat, Poseidon finds himself far more fond of another idea. The idea of owning who he deems belongs to him, showing you just how "affectionate" a god of his caliber can truly get. Your skin will suffer punishment personally, you should be honored, no one in this realm can say they survived a night with Poseidon.
How dare you drag him as lowly as this? Make him ache an uncanny emotion?
Like he "actually" needs you. A true god is a supreme being, the gods hold their thrones and the mortals are squished under the pillars. Gods need no supporters, hold no desire for one to long for.
Yet...
Here with you underneath him as are all living things, he is carving you like a shitty ball of candy, irritating his flawless skin like an unbearable itch.
Prepure yourself, Poseidon is a world ending flood of narcissism far from kind. And now that you devote yourself to his kingdom, no other God will answer your prayers, none then how Poseidon sees fit.
The godly embodiment of perfection, the divine empty shell of the seven seas, will raze the very world as you know it to the bottom of the ocean. To secure the siren's gaze of the one person he ever looked directly in the eye, ruthlessness is just another day.
-
Hades bites you to sate deep, lonely longing.
Savoring the pomegranate. He claims your skin, one of a kind, valuable yet vulnerable-gloriously ravaging it for all its blood and seed. To Hades, the journey is the destination.
For the tart that will fuel his senses for ages to pass, haunt his dreams for centuries without rest, Hades takes you. His blissful offering. Teeth buried in your too clean neck like they always belonged there, sucking veins and lewd delight shines bright in your wanton moans. Hades is an easy man to please, a simple God with simple desires. You need only be present; Laid out before him, bare, ready to receive a god. Your god.
Begging to be noticed, drunk. Willfully forget the outside world alike how Hades desires to dispell his household's looming shadow of death and despair, desperate for peace. A piece of the light sealed tight in a vault saved only for himself, just to be selfish. The last rose plicked from the bush, thorns dull, olden petals withering. For all your flaws, for all your scars, Hades cares not for appearance.
Hades sees and feels your suffering. He orders a judgment, a statement for no other than his beloved; you shall unveil in a realm of insatiable release, no gravity, weightless of responsibility, free of tension. Just you and Hades.
He too-wants to take you over the very edge of reality, feel an anicent pleasure so intense none can ever hope to compare. His hands skillfully play you, a young Beethoven's brilliance. Ears perked, his careful hands primed to the brim. Touch freezing cold as a corpse, depraved long enough, hungry for anything that may satisfy your gluttonous appetite.
Hades kindly aids you in this problematic endeavor, considerate, ever desperate to seek your pleasure and worship. Aiming to please, damn him to Hell. In exchange, help him reach his limit as well. Each sweet bite, every caressing of gentle teeth and lovely pain-is patient. An everlasting eternity, sincerity, marked upon your collarbone, fresh red as an apple.
Another bite is planted in the depths of your bones, your small brusies meeting Hade's fine, healing kiss; A sacred promise for more, one Hades personally ensures, a lonesome sprout furfilled to the fullest potential.
One area after another, loving barrages of deep cresent moons, nothing left untended. Drop of blood here, soft murmurs of delicate devotion there, numerous heavy quakes-the sinster echo of a dark growl against his chest. His fangs are small but fierce. Sensitive. Blade sharp on mortal flesh or opposite.
Pride will swell beautifully in Hades's heart at the sight of his memory on your body, lusterous evidence of how far he will sink to adore you is better than using any word to describe it.
-
Buddha bites to be greedy and cherish the taste of the most wonderful blessing ever received.
Buddha bothers with no secrets, especially not when it comes to satisfying his sweet tooth. He loves sweet things, whats there to hate about them?
In Buddha's light and Eighth Consciousness, you are the sweetest thing he ever laid eyes on. A gift he wants to protect and take care of, shower you in unparalled pleasure even the gods can only dream of receiving. God won't be able to save you from him stealing a taste, something he seems not to take seriously despite being in near constant pursuit of it.
He tends to go with the flow, swim as he wills with the scurrying school of fishes. Shutting up needless conversations and covering you in visible bites meant to last months, a personal massage of devotion to your heart and body.
You will be littered in his influence, if you don't reek of that casual enlightened god smell, then his marks will be enough to make a few points across. The Buddha's mark is indomitable, without regret. His bites aren't too steep but are unique. He isn't interested in drawing a blood bath, but you will feel each patient pierce in every inch, nook, and cranny.
You will learn that Buddha is quite the painter, passionate, and easy-going. He has all the time in the world to decorate his favorite canvas. Buddha prefers straight forwardness, both physically and emotionally, but he knows how to appreciate taking it slow.
Observe the immense details of his vast exploration in the mirror, intense, contrasting, painfully obvious in its recent activities. Feel the lingering tingles left behind from his mercliess tusks, goosebumps trailing afterward. The sheer power and energy imursed in his countless marks, his bites almost throb, blood rushing to clot your wounds.
It will take time aplenty to heal if it ever does.
While Buddha lives and breathes, he will continue to selfishly, selflessly indulge in his beloved. In turn, he will graciously let his beloved rule his body as much as they desire.
-
Loki bites to prove a lie, chasing a selfish self-assuring illusion.
That stotic echo, the deluded feeling lost on his witty tongue. Loki's bite is less pleasent for you then for him, the sadistic god he always is. A mess of unsymmetrical creeping scars and greed for something more then Loki himself can't quite understand- a blatant sincerity beyond his mental comprehension.
Twisting, Loki will scowl at the mere thought of it. He will crumble it up, swallow it up, only to throw it up later. Spat out into dust, a foreign word to the father of lies;
If you're the operator, what kind of netnavi will you have?
I would love to operate ShadeMan.EXE but his constant plotting of the genocide of humanity would throw me the fuck off real fast, and I deeply doubt he'd willingly humble me long afterward.
"Schilt is a sinster creature, one told in many stories that keeps the misbehaving childern of Neo Arcadia dead awake in pure terror."
A Neo Arcandian parent, tired of his problematic son: I'm going to tell you the history of the POLITICAL VAMPIRE!
The son: <:O
(I'm sorry)
Don't say sorry, I got the joke.
Frankly, I hoped the Zero games explored The Judges' relations with Neo's people more deeply. See how the court system worked.
The Eight Judges are personified representatives of law and order; individuals of high intelligence, primed power, and authority. Politics runs rampant in every government, The Judges are clearly very high up in Neo's enforcement status. It would've been fun to see them dispute. Further worldbuild Megaman Zero, give a clearer view on the political views of the reploids.
When you ask Hades for piercings, don't expect normal clips.
That dramatic motherfucker always aims to impress in the most ridiculous methods possible. Damn him to oblivion if Hades doesn't aspire to give his beloved, only upmost, perfect quality gifts. You will burn brighter than any star by the time Hades is through with you.
This somber-ass bitch personally walks to the sixth layer of Hell, effortlessly ripping an obsidian scale off the gargantuan, spiked spine of one of Typhon's numerous monster childern and calling in a very personal favor to Olympus's famous blacksmith, Hephaestus-to forge him a very specific relic.
Earrings.
Hades gives every material needed, brought personally if need be. Regardless of how difficult to obtain and far more than what should be required, each object is just as increbily valuable as the last if not more;
A collection of infernal fire donated directly from Hell's demon Lords, lit forever til the dawn ends. It can burn the world's most stubborn of metals and the strongest of wills, a merciless torture of immeasurable heat. Life taking breath, a saltless tear from the sun's very own core. In other words, it is an unbreakable temperature for binding countless parts, God made or otherwise.
Black glass from Hades' own castle, clean and not too crisp. There's an unease sealed into it, a looming call to the dead. Sizzling sensations overcomes you and guides your fingers across the smooth surface, a temptation bleeding silk through the pitch black lens. Not quite a spark, but threatening to be, tingles dance furiously against weak mortal flesh and bows to the natural will of the gods who sculpted it. The trapped whispers of olden kings and queens and long gone gods, still in an accursed dream. Transparency shimmering blind in the darkness, guiding lost souls to their ruling god like cavern crystals for awaited judgment, void deep as a black star.
Anicent irons melted from fallen weapons, no longer bond to their respective masters, carefully collected off the immortal corpses of the ferocious Titans. Irreplaceable, priceless in fortuide, and pure strength. Indeed, diamonds in the collection of any invested exploration.
Hades waste nothing without a second thought, but these-
They live on now as a far more useful, suitable foundation miles away from their recent decaying forms.
Quite a long journey to craft these special earrings for you. These earrings saw glorious sights amany. Traveled to the very ends of the world; melted into a divine star by the roughest, most careful hands of Heaven, molded by Hades' most destructive calamities in the deepest, darkest nether.
And here they are, the Underworld's newest god-kissed relic, solely for you alone. Although Hades opposes the mere thought of difficulty-always the sincere one.
How could Hades complain when everything you wear shines like the Earth's finest jewelry-majestic, is it not?
Hera pales in comparison. Aphrodite will weep jealousy, in complete, utter awe of your wonderful accessories.
Do not fret over the details, Hades acts like it was the easiest thing in the world.
All Hades could ever want is to spoil you, the least he could do is make up for lost time, Helheim grows evermore busy every passing century, and Hades intents never abandoning his responsibilities. But of course, one of those beloved responsibilities is you.
The cheerful smile you answer in return outweighs Apollo's own boundless radiance. And while Hades strictly insists no payment back, who can't help but bite the apple from the tree?
A gift, lent as a succulent stroke of intimate teeth. Some pierce you like needles, others gentle as a summer breeze. Under your flushed skin, through ravaged clothes and wrinkled sheets; a reddening irritation. Personal, physical remembrance.
God's indulgence is an honor of the highest bidder, a once-in-a-lifetime blessing amongst mere mortals. Addicts crave it, fools reject it, and you welcome it.
Bitter but serving, defiant yet devoted, loving though possessive. How the gods above, below, and in between love no means are equal. The higher Pantheons have never been so considerably consistent.
Their spirits burn for you, suffocating. Breathtaking. The race doesn't stop until someone reaches the finish line, Heaven itself can throw their stones but will all sunk into the deafening weight of the pond.
Although the masters of their craft hide their deeper yearning behind carefully molded masks, their silk-touched mouths burn hotter than any existing blaze on Earth. No surface safe from their tongues. Scorching, seething, bubbling a forbidden desire in your nerves. Licked off your fingers, suckling on your nibbled nape.
Encarved in the binding form of a mark on willing flesh, you become God's ambrosia.
From Poseidon, Hades, Buddha and Loki.
Poseidon bites to infectiously possess you.
To ruin you, claim you, punish you.
Cure the strange urge you somehow awakened within the beast, the Kraken is never easily tamed, no dark calamity of the sea is.
While it's usually more content with ripping out your throat, Poseidon finds himself far more fond of another idea. The idea of owning who he deems belongs to him, showing you just how "affectionate" a god of his caliber can truly get. Your skin will suffer punishment personally, you should be honored, no one in this realm can say they survived a night with Poseidon.
How dare you drag him as lowly as this? Make him ache an uncanny emotion?
Like he "actually" needs you. A true god is a supreme being, the gods hold their thrones and the mortals are squished under the pillars. Gods need no supporters, hold no desire for one to long for.
Yet...
Here with you underneath him as are all living things, he is carving you like a shitty ball of candy, irritating his flawless skin like an unbearable itch.
Prepure yourself, Poseidon is a world ending flood of narcissism far from kind. And now that you devote yourself to his kingdom, no other God will answer your prayers, none then how Poseidon sees fit.
The godly embodiment of perfection, the divine empty shell of the seven seas, will raze the very world as you know it to the bottom of the ocean. To secure the siren's gaze of the one person he ever looked directly in the eye, ruthlessness is just another day.
-
Hades bites you to sate deep, lonely longing.
Savoring the pomegranate. He claims your skin, one of a kind, valuable yet vulnerable-gloriously ravaging it for all its blood and seed. To Hades, the journey is the destination.
For the tart that will fuel his senses for ages to pass, haunt his dreams for centuries without rest, Hades takes you. His blissful offering. Teeth buried in your too clean neck like they always belonged there, sucking veins and lewd delight shines bright in your wanton moans. Hades is an easy man to please, a simple God with simple desires. You need only be present; Laid out before him, bare, ready to receive a god. Your god.
Begging to be noticed, drunk. Willfully forget the outside world alike how Hades desires to dispell his household's looming shadow of death and despair, desperate for peace. A piece of the light sealed tight in a vault saved only for himself, just to be selfish. The last rose plicked from the bush, thorns dull, olden petals withering. For all your flaws, for all your scars, Hades cares not for appearance.
Hades sees and feels your suffering. He orders a judgment, a statement for no other than his beloved; you shall unveil in a realm of insatiable release, no gravity, weightless of responsibility, free of tension. Just you and Hades.
He too-wants to take you over the very edge of reality, feel an anicent pleasure so intense none can ever hope to compare. His hands skillfully play you, a young Beethoven's brilliance. Ears perked, his careful hands primed to the brim. Touch freezing cold as a corpse, depraved long enough, hungry for anything that may satisfy your gluttonous appetite.
Hades kindly aids you in this problematic endeavor, considerate, ever desperate to seek your pleasure and worship. Aiming to please, damn him to Hell. In exchange, help him reach his limit as well. Each sweet bite, every caressing of gentle teeth and lovely pain-is patient. An everlasting eternity, sincerity, marked upon your collarbone, fresh red as an apple.
Another bite is planted in the depths of your bones, your small brusies meeting Hade's fine, healing kiss; A sacred promise for more, one Hades personally ensures, a lonesome sprout furfilled to the fullest potential.
One area after another, loving barrages of deep cresent moons, nothing left untended. Drop of blood here, soft murmurs of delicate devotion there, numerous heavy quakes-the sinster echo of a dark growl against his chest. His fangs are small but fierce. Sensitive. Blade sharp on mortal flesh or opposite.
Pride will swell beautifully in Hades's heart at the sight of his memory on your body, lusterous evidence of how far he will sink to adore you is better than using any word to describe it.
-
Buddha bites to be greedy and cherish the taste of the most wonderful blessing ever received.
Buddha bothers with no secrets, especially not when it comes to satisfying his sweet tooth. He loves sweet things, whats there to hate about them?
In Buddha's light and Eighth Consciousness, you are the sweetest thing he ever laid eyes on. A gift he wants to protect and take care of, shower you in unparalled pleasure even the gods can only dream of receiving. God won't be able to save you from him stealing a taste, something he seems not to take seriously despite being in near constant pursuit of it.
He tends to go with the flow, swim as he wills with the scurrying school of fishes. Shutting up needless conversations and covering you in visible bites meant to last months, a personal massage of devotion to your heart and body.
You will be littered in his influence, if you don't reek of that casual enlightened god smell, then his marks will be enough to make a few points across. The Buddha's mark is indomitable, without regret. His bites aren't too steep but are unique. He isn't interested in drawing a blood bath, but you will feel each patient pierce in every inch, nook, and cranny.
You will learn that Buddha is quite the painter, passionate, and easy-going. He has all the time in the world to decorate his favorite canvas. Buddha prefers straight forwardness, both physically and emotionally, but he knows how to appreciate taking it slow.
Observe the immense details of his vast exploration in the mirror, intense, contrasting, painfully obvious in its recent activities. Feel the lingering tingles left behind from his mercliess tusks, goosebumps trailing afterward. The sheer power and energy imursed in his countless marks, his bites almost throb, blood rushing to clot your wounds.
It will take time aplenty to heal if it ever does.
While Buddha lives and breathes, he will continue to selfishly, selflessly indulge in his beloved. In turn, he will graciously let his beloved rule his body as much as they desire.
-
Loki bites to prove a lie, chasing a selfish self-assuring illusion.
That stotic echo, the deluded feeling lost on his witty tongue. Loki's bite is less pleasent for you then for him, the sadistic god he always is. A mess of unsymmetrical creeping scars and greed for something more then Loki himself can't quite understand- a blatant sincerity beyond his mental comprehension.
Twisting, Loki will scowl at the mere thought of it. He will crumble it up, swallow it up, only to throw it up later. Spat out into dust, a foreign word to the father of lies;
A gift, rememberance of whom you bed. God's indulgence is an honor of the highest bidder, a once-in-a-lifetime blessing amongst mere mortals.
Bitter but serving, defiant yet devoted, loving but possessive. Exactly how the gods love is by no means equal, the high Pantheons are as increbily different as one can be, but just as suffocating as the last. You can't breathe in their grasp, can't think nothing but to experience the moment to the absolute fillest.
Their spirits burn for you, not even Heaven itself can sunk it's stone in their pond, the race doesn't stop until someone reaches the finish line.
Although the masters of their craft hide their deeper yearning behind carefully molded masks, their silk-touched mouths burn skin hotter than any existing blaze on Earth. Scorching, seething, bubbling a forbidden desire in your nerves.
In an encarving form of a mark on willing flesh, in this case, you become a god's ambrosia.
From Poseidon, Hades, Buddha and Loki.
Poseidon bites to infectiously possess you.
To ruin you, claim you, punish you.
Cure the strange urge you somehow awakened within the beast, the Kraken is never easily tamed, no dark calamity of the sea is.
While it's usually more content with ripping out your throat, Poseidon finds himself far more fond of another idea. The idea of owning who he deems belongs to him, showing you just how "affectionate" a god of his caliber can truly get. Your skin will suffer punishment personally, you should be honored, no one in this realm can say they survived a night with Poseidon.
How dare you drag him as lowly as this? Make him ache an uncanny emotion?
Like he "actually" needs you. A true god is a supreme being, the gods hold their thrones and the mortals are squished under the pillars. Gods need no supporters, hold no desire for one to long for.
Yet...
Here with you underneath him as are all living things, he is carving you like a shitty ball of candy, irritating his flawless skin like an unbearable itch.
Prepure yourself, Poseidon is a world ending flood of narcissism far from kind. And now that you devote yourself to his kingdom, no other God will answer your prayers, none then how Poseidon sees fit.
The godly embodiment of perfection, the divine empty shell of the seven seas, will raze the very world as you know it to the bottom of the ocean. To secure the siren's gaze of the one person he ever looked directly in the eye, ruthlessness is just another day.
-
Hades bites you to sate deep, lonely longing.
Savoring the pomegranate. He claims your skin, one of a kind, valuable yet vulnerable-gloriously ravaging it for all its blood and seed. To Hades, the journey is the destination.
For the tart that will fuel his senses for ages to pass, haunt his dreams for centuries without rest, Hades takes you. His blissful offering. Teeth buried in your too clean neck like they always belonged there, sucking veins and lewd delight shines bright in your wanton moans. Hades is an easy man to please, a simple God with simple desires. You need only be present; Laid out before him, bare, ready to receive a god. Your god.
Begging to be noticed, drunk. Willfully forget the outside world alike how Hades desires to dispell his household's looming shadow of death and despair, desperate for peace. A piece of the light sealed tight in a vault saved only for himself, just to be selfish. The last rose plicked from the bush, thorns dull, olden petals withering. For all your flaws, for all your scars, Hades cares not for appearance.
Hades sees and feels your suffering. He orders a judgment, a statement for no other than his beloved; you shall unveil in a realm of insatiable release, no gravity, weightless of responsibility, free of tension. Just you and Hades.
He too-wants to take you over the very edge of reality, feel an anicent pleasure so intense none can ever hope to compare. His hands skillfully play you, a young Beethoven's brilliance. Ears perked, his careful hands primed to the brim. Touch freezing cold as a corpse, depraved long enough, hungry for anything that may satisfy your gluttonous appetite.
Hades kindly aids you in this problematic endeavor, considerate, ever desperate to seek your pleasure and worship. Aiming to please, damn him to Hell. In exchange, help him reach his limit as well. Each sweet bite, every caressing of gentle teeth and lovely pain-is patient. An everlasting eternity, sincerity, marked upon your collarbone, fresh red as an apple.
Another bite is planted in the depths of your bones, your small brusies meeting Hade's fine, healing kiss; A sacred promise for more, one Hades personally ensures, a lonesome sprout furfilled to the fullest potential.
One area after another, loving barrages of deep cresent moons, nothing left untended. Drop of blood here, soft murmurs of delicate devotion there, numerous heavy quakes-the sinster echo of a dark growl against his chest. His fangs are small but fierce. Sensitive. Blade sharp on mortal flesh or opposite.
Pride will swell beautifully in Hades's heart at the sight of his memory on your body, lusterous evidence of how far he will sink to adore you is better than using any word to describe it.
-
Buddha bites to be greedy and cherish the taste of the most wonderful blessing ever received.
Buddha bothers with no secrets, especially not when it comes to satisfying his sweet tooth. He loves sweet things, whats there to hate about them?
In Buddha's light and Eighth Consciousness, you are the sweetest thing he ever laid eyes on. A gift he wants to protect and take care of, shower you in unparalled pleasure even the gods can only dream of receiving. God won't be able to save you from him stealing a taste, something he seems not to take seriously despite being in near constant pursuit of it.
He tends to go with the flow, swim as he wills with the scurrying school of fishes. Shutting up needless conversations and covering you in visible bites meant to last months, a personal massage of devotion to your heart and body.
You will be littered in his influence, if you don't reek of that casual enlightened god smell, then his marks will be enough to make a few points across. The Buddha's mark is indomitable, without regret. His bites aren't too steep but are unique. He isn't interested in drawing a blood bath, but you will feel each patient pierce in every inch, nook, and cranny.
You will learn that Buddha is quite the painter, passionate, and easy-going. He has all the time in the world to decorate his favorite canvas. Buddha prefers straight forwardness, both physically and emotionally, but he knows how to appreciate taking it slow.
Observe the immense details of his vast exploration in the mirror, intense, contrasting, painfully obvious in its recent activities. Feel the lingering tingles left behind from his mercliess tusks, goosebumps trailing afterward. The sheer power and energy imursed in his countless marks, his bites almost throb, blood rushing to clot your wounds.
It will take time aplenty to heal if it ever does.
While Buddha lives and breathes, he will continue to selfishly, selflessly indulge in his beloved. In turn, he will graciously let his beloved rule his body as much as they desire.
-
Loki bites to prove a lie, chasing a selfish self-assuring illusion.
That stotic echo, the deluded feeling lost on his witty tongue. Loki's bite is less pleasent for you then for him, the sadistic god he always is. A mess of unsymmetrical creeping scars and greed for something more then Loki himself can't quite understand- a blatant sincerity beyond his mental comprehension.
Twisting, Loki will scowl at the mere thought of it. He will crumble it up, swallow it up, only to throw it up later. Spat out into dust, a foreign word to the father of lies;
Poseidon's sharp bite causes temporary paralysis, an immortal implant upon flesh from claiming fangs. It furfills and takes; sea water for breath and heavy foam as words. Clear balance of pain and pleading pleasure. You will ache and long for far more than Poseidon will ever deem you worthy of. Bitter, layered in a salty yet sophisticated self-importance.
Though the beginning effects wear off, the after-affect won't in the long run. Once the bite locks on your neckline, its eternal memory never fades away. It's a promise stuck to you, chained. Sunk deep like an archor, a silent declaration, permanent weight on the ocean floor where it belongs.
The pain lingers thoughtfully like a ghost, an infectious wasp sting on your pulse, the possessive mark of the sea god is as unforgettable as the ocean itself. Whispering against mortal ears, striking foolish eyes.
WELL IF YOU INSIST- I WANT TO KISS THAT ELEGANT MOTHERFUCKER OF SCHILT DAMN IT
Of the Eight Judges, Hellbat Schilt excells best at kissing. His lips silk to touch, cotton against your fingertips. Moist, gentle mist, his most delicate parts bend to the one-of-a-kind youth whom holds his hidden heart.
Schilt is a grand monster to behold, but an even more gentle presence to love. The incredible amount of humanity Schilt shows contradicts his assigned title, no less stubborn than any other living being desperate to live.
A foe of many faces; Cold as ice, soft as fresh clouds with the grounded lifeforms he deems worthy of his mercy. One with jewelic nightfall, a free bird in the flock, swimming free like a leaf in the deep ocean sky.
Schilt is a sinster creature, the dark beast-well hidden between anicent, reploid ruins. Told in many old stories that keep the misbehaving childern of Neo Arcadia dead awake in pure terror; Afraid to be stolen, taken into the endless curtain black of the old, abandoned world. Destroyed, devastated beyond repair. Never to return home again.
He whispers a sweet summerbreeze that locks you in a devilish daze, the looming shadow beneath your cresent moons, parted open in curious anticipation, sealed under his supreme control.
Drinks your voice, your sounds, your moans like fine wine. Leaving not a single lonely drop untasted, unclean. Dripping a forbidden glazing on your ears, smelling of forest rain and fresh raked leaves.
Temptation, soul-sucking judgment, merciless in bringing down the hammer. He'd rather be with no one else than you, loyal as ever to the object of his affection. A devil, a bat, a blood drinking heathen of the deepest night.
Schilt is a divine, vampiric malice that won't let you go if you wander too far into the cave's darkness. He is very lovely to look at indeed, but also hungry. Tread carefully, God help you if Schilt wants you too much.
You can barely breathe by the time Schilt finishes, cocky about how fast you fall like a ragdoll into his awaiting arms. Gaze lost, staring deep at your whole world, the pretty pink star lonesome in pitch black all-consuming void only longing to eat you whole.
You melt like butter into his mouth, baren to the intense heat of his stronger body. Blood pumping and heart racing, Schilt can smell just how roused you are. But the fun shouldn't end so early, too soon. Especially when you're so exposed. Vulnerable to the predator before you, mindless silly putty on the ground.
How can a cat resist playing catch with the corpse of the mouse?
Your mouth empty, too empty even, begging to be devoured entirely. No one can ignore the call of the wild, the alluring invitation of willing prey.
Fangs grazing your bottom lip, threatening a pleasurable prick of pain. Claws below your chin, dragging across your throat like knives, digging lightly enough to not break skin.
Schilt savors you like your the last person on this ruined Earth, and he is determined to prove just how much you make him feel, how much a paindul day far apart from you does to him.
Weak in the knees, at the dark mercy of his sharp tongue, you know better then to ever underestimate the great bat. Without a thought spared you give onto him, to the devil and his filthy dirty promises; submitted forever in the trail of endless devoted smooches and love bites littered like polka dots on your naked flesh, intimate and forthcoming.
Beware the great bat.
Though he may kiss you, cherish you in ways you have only dreamed of, he will remain an eternal slave to his nature
You have an "admirer", apparently. One that has no sense oncesoever.
Odin, the All-father, iron fist of the Norse.
You drain everything hidden deep in your willpower to not flip your shit each time he graces your weaker presence.
Odin comeths baring no warning. Does a King need formal reason to wander inside his own castle?
Not a word spoken, without distraction nor misdirection. The All-father is supreme and tyrannical in godly definition, of the legendary Bifrost's chosen few. A rapid tide in constant pursuit, edgeless flood overcoming building after building in its merciless path of endless devastation, devouring those who dare oppose the roaring waves.
Suddenly, day after day, night after night-this intimidating figure finds you worthy of not just a simple glance. But also, his own personal time.
Odin is... just there.
Existing next to little ol' you, a lowly servant, the great All-father. Who shows the sheer audacity to treat this like it's not extremely unusual for an all-powerful god such as himself to take interest in another out of the blue, let alone someone as painstakingly simple as you. Someone never pinned on the radar of another god, definitely not one of their strongest ancients.
Either you found him, or likewise, the latter; waiting ever patiently by the bay of your active sector, stuck in the ground like a tree stump. Is he even breathing? Feet rooted, immoveable as stone.
It's hard to not miss him in this lightful realm, a towering candle of stern darkness-permeant arrogance written on his face.
Wrinkles forming indifferent strokes, old indeed, but nevertheless immortal. Long scars, they decorate him in tight and unnerving brushes. A bleak void carries the stinging yellow jackets in his eyes, stoic, unrelenting. A force to be reckoned with, even then, any blind fool can tell this highly dangerous god homes a deep attractiveness mortals are blessed to witness.
The devil is hideous on one hand, yet beautiful on another.
People become frantic in trying to appease their quite unexpected guest, you can't blame them, if you didn't know what Odin was here for-vaguely at the very least-you would've tripped on yourself to ensure no bloodshed as well, no one wants to wipe up intestines and tethered remains off the walls.
Frightened assistants question one another, curious bombarding. A sea of peeking servants and turning heads, eager but not too eager to learn the answer to the question lingering in everyone's mind-
-Why Odin of all damn people is in private servant quarters?
Endless blunt remarks of his loyal crows fill the air, interesting how they obviously contrast, scolding unlucky others getting far too close for their liking (Getting used to that nonstop bickering and annoying flaps of their feathery wings deserves a round of applause admittedly). Shouting in a voice you swear can be heard all across Heaven that the All-father needs not justify himself to weaker masses.
And soon, the crowd disperses till Odin is all that remains, looking upon reality like it matters little to him in that current moment.
Continues to stand moving not an inch, dead to the knowing world. Maybe he was ready to stay there for years, just for you. Ridiculous, but the determination itself is admirable, terrifying as the person it belonged too.
Holding, distant, stubborn on holy soil older than your great grandfather until you're unfortunately noticed; The only servant Odin made eye-contact within the past few hours, a small part of you immediately died in that current moment.
Caught.
Well, better to accept fate then delay the inevitable.
Furthermore, Odin never fucking leaves. Unless swayed by the heavy burden of his responsibilities to Valhalla, he is practically glued to you. Hip to hip, never behind.
Where you least expect him, somehow, he has unadmitted reason for popping up into your vision like a mole, driven by curiosity.
Coincidentally, in your most favored places. Including personal ones.
(There next to your bed watching you sleep, there behind you during your break, there standing next to you as you dust the priceless artifacts of the great halls. Wherever you go Odin is almost certain to trail after, turning this into a childish game of follow the leader.
Odin goes where you go, regardless of actually where 'where' is. At this point, you can only expect but never predict. Quick as lightening, an invisible thundering sound in the distance, appearing where most convenient. Your face sinks the moment his face enters your sights, you won't shake him off matterless of whether or not you really tried, both stuck together till night falls from Olympus.
(Yeah right, you shaking off Odin. No fool can ever dream hard enough to achieve such a feat.)
It's an unlucky series of unwanted occurrences that all servants know better then to suggest otherwise.
You swear, this is on purpose. But for what?
Pleasure?
Curiosity?
This torture of constantly hanging on the end of the cliff, not knowing if someone behind you is waiting the perfect moment to push. To see you fall down into the bottomless abyss. Thor and Loki had to get their tendencies somewhere.
You are fairly confident in yourself, even when it comes to dealing with the gods. You have worked for Olympus long enough that little to nothing surprises you anymore. You've witnessed aplenty things, from disasters to miracles, you have never seen-
-this.)
And Odin just...stares at you the entire time, much to your intense confusion and unbridled fear.
Odin grants no hints and admits nothing, an intimidating statue of a great towering godfather who can erase your mortal existence off Heaven in under a millisecond. Completely and utterly unpredictable, reeking of boundless bloodlust and pure fighting prowess. Won't take the unrivaled intellect of Tesla to recognize Odin can't be a bearer of good news.
He irritates the sensitive hairs on your neck, pricked up, suffocating in fright. His aura scorches you, a transparent brand of godly fire. Daring you to move out of line, defiance is forever intolerable in the biased eyes of the Heavens. You can't imagine doing anything to potentially earn his ire.
You have no intention of betraying Valhalla, unfond as you are about the gods, not that you'd foolishly announce that to fucking Odin.
Your conclusions are empty stales of bread, no meat and cheese, sauce, mayonnaise or mustard. No excuse for this argumentatively, obsessive behavior about following you like a shitty puppy. You can't guess why Odin is even here to begin with, why he bothers you with never-ending oversight.
Thankfully, Odin only looks. Just watching.
Seems merely seeing you just living is a newfound hobby for Valhalla's ruling god, whatever that means for you.
As deeply unnerving as his constant observation is, you suppose it could be worse, as you and your beloved nymph friends speculate. All you can do is wait for something to happen. You take it as a sign to perform your duties more perfectly, though it was more out of crawling desperation to live than inspiration.
(You read and carefully organize the ancient books in a quiet, knowing patience.
Counting the lively torches upon the grand Olympian walls, which ones are lit, which aren't.
Writing down assigned addresses, preparing for the awaiting visitation of the next Pantheon for Hermes.)
Non-blinking, holes burning at the back of your head. Analyzing the most basic specks and wrinkles of your face and neckline, fair hair whistling silently against Winter winds. Eyes of an eagle locked onto their target, dreadfully focused. By far the most scared you have ever been in your entire life, and that's saying a lot from a mortal servant of the gods. Luckily, it gets easier and easier to ignore. Silence seems to be Odin's consistent trait.
Odin is a walking blank slate blessed with legs. He does nothing, says nothing, and acknowledges nothing. Nothing but you, in the slightest form of a distant bat of thick eyelashes thrown in your direction.
You can't be certain if that's better or worse.
Apart from constant observation spilling not a single question, Odin hasn't raised a hand or tried to bring upon you any sort of harm. Made not even the tiniest peep across your numerous encounters. Done anything other than made you incredibly creeped out.
Odin is a constant, looming shadow. A curse, razor-sharp, an unpredictable element of nature. A sinking feeling of never being left alone in peace, sticking on the very edge of every corner of your unrest. That dark gaze is something no one ever forgets.
Certainly not you, a victim of that judgmental pair of golden ores, staring into your soul. Every truth of you naked to his eyes, like glass.
You still have no clue why Odin decided that you must be the center of his undeterred attention.
When you ask Hades for piercings, don't expect normal clips.
That dramatic motherfucker always aims to impress in the most ridiculous methods possible. Damn him to oblivion if Hades doesn't aspire to give his beloved, only upmost, perfect quality gifts. You will burn brighter than any star by the time Hades is through with you.
This somber-ass bitch is personally walking to the sixth layer of Hell, effortlessly ripping an obsidian scale off the gargantuan, spiked spine of one of Typhon's numerous monster childern and calling in a very personal favor to Olympus's famous blacksmith, Hephaestus-to forge him a very specific relic.
Earrings.
Hades gives every material needed, brought personally if need be. Regardless of how difficult to obtain and far more than what should be required, each object is just as increbily valuable as the last if not more;
A collection of infernal fire donated directly from Hell's demon Lords, lit forever til the dawn ends. It can burn the world's most stubborn of metals and the strongest of wills, a merciless torture of immeasurable heat. Life taking breath, a saltless tear from the sun's very own core. In other words, it is an unbreakable temperature for binding countless parts, God made or otherwise.
Black glass from Hades' own castle, clean and not too crisp. There's an unease sealed into it, a looming call to the dead. Sizzling sensations overcomes you and guides your fingers across the smooth surface, a temptation bleeding silk through the pitch black lens. Not quite a spark, but threatening to be, tingles dance furiously against weak mortal flesh and bows to the natural will of the gods who sculpted it. The trapped whispers of olden kings and queens and long gone gods, still in an accursed dream. Transparency shimmering blind in the darkness, guiding lost souls to their ruling god like cavern crystals for awaited judgment, void deep as a black star.
Anicent irons melted from fallen weapons, no longer bond to their respective masters, carefully collected off the immortal corpses of the ferocious Titans. Irreplaceable, priceless in fortuide, and pure strength. Indeed, diamonds in the collection of any invested exploration.
Hades waste nothing without a second thought, but these-
They live on now as a far more useful, suitable foundation miles away from their recent decaying forms.
It's quite a long journey to craft these special earrings for you, but how could he complain when everything you wear is so majestic? Hera pales in comparison. Do not fret over the details, Hades acts like it was the easiest thing in the world.
All Hades could ever want is to spoil you. It's the least he could do to make up for all the time he lost, Helheim grows evermore busy every passing century, and Hades intents never abandoning his responsibilities. But of course, one of those beloved responsibilities is you.
The cheerful smile you answer in return outweighs Apollo's own boundless radiance. And while Hades strictly insists no payment back, who can't help but bite the apple from the tree?
aaa, wasn’t trying to be negative, just didn’t know if my ask got ate again or something. also didn’t know if i just missed it since i haven’t been active
It's OK! I didn't take it as a negative your fine!
And yeah, i haven't, either. I've been getting busier and busier, along with some deeper personal problems so it's only been quick reblogs and posts on my main blog.
Your ask didn't get eaten again, don't worry! It's sitting nice and cozy in my drafts and has a backup being recorded in my Google docs. Won't make the same mistake twice.
