📔 satchel

よ!!! I don't know what I'm doing at all~ kamioshi: 🎇 || ship content! ao3: booksatchel

[booksatchel]

sometimes i have ideas but i can't write them well enough... so i'll just ramble here. hello to anyone who sees this 📔✨️

ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksatchel

[pronouns: he/him]

[booksatchel]

Sing, Goddess

›✨️🔥, ⛓️(♀️)🎇

Axl is out on a quest to kill the Demon King. Instead, he finds a woman in the palace. Petal soft and cheeks rosy. It was night, and though all light had hidden away, her face was glowing.

> brain storming for the first prompt. i'll clean it up and work on it in docs. 👍✨️

Regina, she's been named. Queen. She was Altair itself, plucked from its constellation, taken from the sky; swift, bright, and precious. Sometimes Axl stared at her ー at the way she glowed, light spreading across the darkness, honey dousing the tables, the paintings, and even himself ー and when he looked away, she was still pressed to his eyelids. Her cream soft skin. The lily beauty of her hair. The dancer-like curve of her neck.

He remembers how he greeted her. Bowing low, hand on his heart. Reverence.

"Goddess," he had said.

Regina laughed. As clear as spring fountain water falling upon stone and moss.

"Oh, definitely not."

But her eyes were like clear-eyed Athena, and Aphrodite lived in the curve of her hip, the demure angles of her face. How could she not be a goddess, when her hands were just like that peerless huntress Artemis: fierce, ancient and wild.

"I'm not a God." She told him, terribly amused, and she said nothing more. "If I was, I wouldn't be here."

Axl frowned at that. Right. The Demon King had trapped her here.

He won't rest until she was free.

The gladiator rested his eyes. Which meant he missed the cruel curl of her lips.

Silly. How could he free her from herself?

[booksatchel]

This probably is gonna end up needing more tine to write so I'll just put this in my drafts and so something else for the prompt...

Edit: nvm i cant come up with anything ig this little snippet is all i can cook for royalty 😭 ごめん

[booksatchel]

Sing, Goddess

›✨️🔥, ⛓️(♀️)🎇

Axl is out on a quest to kill the Demon King. Instead, he finds a woman in the palace. Petal soft and cheeks rosy. It was night, and though all light had hidden away, her face was glowing.

> brain storming for the first prompt. i'll clean it up and work on it in docs. 👍✨️

Regina, she's been named. Queen. She was Altair itself, plucked from its constellation, taken from the sky; swift, bright, and precious. Sometimes Axl stared at her ー at the way she glowed, light spreading across the darkness, honey dousing the tables, the paintings, and even himself ー and when he looked away, she was still pressed to his eyelids. Her cream soft skin. The lily beauty of her hair. The dancer-like curve of her neck.

He remembers how he greeted her. Bowing low, hand on his heart. Reverence.

"Goddess," he had said.

Regina laughed. As clear as spring fountain water falling upon stone and moss.

"Oh, definitely not."

But her eyes were like clear-eyed Athena, and Aphrodite lived in the curve of her hip, the demure angles of her face. How could she not be a goddess, when her hands were just like that peerless huntress Artemis: fierce, ancient and wild.

"I'm not a God." She told him, terribly amused, and she said nothing more. "If I was, I wouldn't be here."

Axl frowned at that. Right. The Demon King had trapped her here.

He won't rest until she was free.

The gladiator rested his eyes. Which meant he missed the cruel curl of her lips.

Silly. How could he free her from herself?

[booksatchel]

A bit of heaven

> ⛓️🎇 fluff, comfort

Underneath all his punches and chains is the kindest bit of humanity Alt has ever seen.

Everyone, including Axl himself, thinks that the gladiator is built from pieces of the wild. Smiles in the shape of bared fangs and his hands like a bear's ー too large and too sharp for anything gentle.

Those hands are on Alt's waist, thumbing soft circles into his hip. He's humming to himself, some unknown tune that rumbles through his chest. Limbs tangle; Alt's ankles knocking against Axl's foot underneath their blanket. Alt leans up. To kiss his boyish grin. To bury his face in his tangled hair.

It smells of sun and citrus. Only he knows this.

Lazily, Axl takes to his neck, retracing where his lips had touched before. His pulse. His collarbones. His shoulders. Alt's palms find his face, cupping it. Axl says nothing. Instead he kisses him, breathing honey and warmth into Alt's throat.

He knows nothing if heaven. But for this, he would pray.

[booksatchel]

oh after a bit of digging, turns out words included in your posts show up when searched. i'll make sure to censor or use emojis instead then!