神 | Fᴀʟʟᴇsᴛᴏ

Fᴀʟʟᴇsᴛᴏ Multi Paragraph - Novella- Detailed Responses Feel the weight of our sins. A symphony demanding repentance from its conductor. Fight to the zenith. In suffering, we learn that terribly lamenting beauty of Ｐｅａｃｅ. ━ Multiverse Roleplay: Pein (Shippuden), Aaroniero (Bleach), Joker (DCU), Ser Barristan the Bold (GoT), Sabrina Glevissig (Witcher), Mother Miranda (Resident Evil), And Many More (Countless Fandoms)

[fallesto]

fallesto;             an independent multi-muse, multi-fandom blog featuring kokushibo from kimetsu no yaiba. And so much more!

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[fallesto]

The priestess was quiet as she untangle the thorn vines around the strange creature’s legs. She believed it was some sort of horse monster but didn’t sense any demonic energy. Which was why she helped free it from the vines. One the legs were healed she stood up and brushed off her miko kimono. “There you go.”

He had been dozing off among the vines. Can you really blame him? Everything felt so exhausting, utterly exhausting. He despised being out here, and he loathed being on these worthless islands too. Why was it always him chosen for such missions? Was it because of his devil fruit powers? It hardly seemed fair; they should send another knight, someone else entirely. All he desired was to be in bed, sleeping, dreaming, and unwinding. This was far too much effort, laden with stress. Danger? Not really, but he was supposed to be deep undercover when he stumbled into the vines and simply dozed off instead of trying to escape them.

Gradually, he blinked, his long-lashed eyes fluttering open as the priestess knelt beside him, her fingers skilfully loosening the thorny vines wrapped around his equine legs. The sensation was strange, not just the feeling of someone working to liberate him, but the absence of pain. Typically, he would have anticipated the thorns to pierce deeply, drawing blood worthy of his holy status. Yet here, in this serene grove, there was only the gentle rustle of leaves and the priestess's soft breath as she toiled away.

As he watched her rising from the ground? She had actually helped him? He tilted his head and exhaled, undercover, right, right. If it looks like a horse, walks like a horse, sounds like a horse, then it is a horse. A saying? No, he had just made it up, as his head drooped, nearly slipping back into slumber. But she had freed him, using devil fruit powers or perhaps something else? Intriguing, maybe, just maybe she was worth his time. This island, still unexplored, held much, but she was undoubtedly the most fascinating thing here. He took a moment to look her over, kind, intriguing, and strong, definitely someone worth staying close to.

[akubzie]

[fallesto]

@bloodhonored

[fallesto]

He lay there. This was hell.

Not the poetic kind sung about in monks' hymns … no rivers of fire, no demons with rusted tongs. Just the deck beneath him, sticky with his own blood, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning pitch. Fuchi's weight pressed against him, too light, too still. The blond's breath came in shallow, irregular hitches, each one shuddering through His ribs like a dull blade twisting.

"Fuchi—"

Slowly his voice cracked, raw as split timber. He barely recognized the sound as his own. The deck tilted beneath him, waves slamming against the hull with enough force to send a tremor through his spine. Fuchi's weight slumped against him, boneless, the blond's breaths shallow and uneven against the crook of his neck.

“Fuck!”

The ship groaned … a deep, guttural sound that resonated through the soles of his sandals. Flames clawed up the mast, tongues of fire flickering against the night sky, casting grotesque shadows that danced over Fuchi's pallid face. His fingers, slick with blood and sweat, curled instinctively around Fuchi's wrist. The pulse beneath his thumb was weak, erratic … like a dying bird's wings fluttering against his palm.

He couldn't carry him. Not like this. Not with one arm gone and the other shaking from exertion. But he couldn't leave him. Not when Fuchi's lips were stained crimson, his breaths coming in wet, ragged gasps.

“Shit!”

The mast snapped overhead with a sound like breaking bones. He rolled them both sideways just as flaming rigging crashed where Fuchi's head had been moments before. Sparks scattered across the deck, catching in Fuchi's pale hair like fireflies. As he pressed Fuchi against the wooden rails, ducking him in there as he leaned down and kissed him.

“I am sorry, but the land, needs people like you to make it better, people like me, no.”

The kiss tasted like blood and salt, fleeting but searing … an unspoken vow pressed between lips. He pulled back first, his teeth gritted against the pain radiating from his ruined shoulder. Fuchi's fingers trembled where they'd clutched his collar, slackening now, confusion and exhaustion dulling his usually sharp gaze. "Stay down, that is my last command to you." He murmured, pressing his forehead to Fuchi's one last time. The blond's skin was clammy, his breath uneven. It was all the confirmation he needed.

“I am already cursed Fuchi, I drank the elixir, I cannot go back.”

He stood. The motion sent fresh agony lancing through his torso, but the deck beneath his feet felt solid despite the flames chewing through the ship’s bones. The elixir at his hip burned hotter now, its pulse synchronizing with his own frantic heartbeat. Ahead, through the veil of smoke, she stood … perched on the railing like a carrion bird surveying its meal, everyone who had fought her, had been swatted down like flies. The fan in her hand dripped rust-colored fluid, her newly feminine form silhouetted against the inferno. She hadn’t fled. She’d waited. Watched. And he made his way towards her.

“We both aren’t getting to the mainland, we both die here.”

[fallesto]

He maintained his gaze on her, all six of those piercing eyes, unblinking and steadfast, resembling a predator analysing prey that refused to act as it should. The water that separated them vibrated with the intensity of his presence, thick with the aroma of salt and something ancient, something profound. His claws flexed once more, the movement intentional, probing the silence like a blade testing flesh. "You speak," he whispered, the words echoing through the water like a bell tolling, "as if you comprehend us." The accusation hung in the air, sharp and palpable beneath the surface.

"Humans have destroyed the world, and you are quick to defend your own kind, hm?"

His grip tightened just enough, not enough to leave a mark, but sufficient to stop Kikyo's gentle retreat. A ripple of water surged outward as Doma's fingers reached toward her, his grin expanding with predatory pleasure. Before the pale mermaid could bridge the gap, his tail flicked once, a silent command that made Doma recoil with an exaggerated pout. "Tsk. Always so possessive," Doma chimed, twirling a strand of silver hair around his claw. Yet he complied, floating just out of reach, though his gaze remained locked on Kikyo with an unsettling hunger.

"You are mistaken," He intoned, his voice a deep rumble that resonated through Kikyo's ribs. His six eyes traced the contour of her throat, the quickening of her pulse, always observing, always analysing. "This is not mercy." Each word was pronounced with intention, each syllable heavy like a stone sinking into deep water. "You entertain me. That is all." His claws brushed against her side, not breaking the skin but marking her with the promise of their potential. "And entertainment is... scarce."

The weight of his gaze enveloped Kikyo like a tangible force, six golden eyes scrutinizing her with a meticulousness that sent shivers across her skin, even in the frigid water. His claws hovered near her ribs, neither digging in nor pulling back, as if he were torn between the urge to slice her open or allow her to float away. The silence elongated, interrupted only by the sporadic flick of Doma’s tail as he circled them like a predator awaiting its meal.

"You entertain me, human." He reiterated, this time more deliberately, savouring each syllable. His voice echoed through the water, vibrating against Kikyo’s bones. "But do not confuse this for compassion." His fingers twitched, claws brushing against the fabric of her shirt without tearing it. "Compassion is for the feeble." The corner of his mouth quirked, not a smile, but something more sinister, something that made the shadows in the tank seem to tighten around them.

"I have no intention of killing you." He stated as he reached out, his hand encircling her throat, applying a slight pressure to pry her mouth open, while his other hand moved to her face, a claw gliding down to slice her palm, the blood mingling with the water as he covered her mouth. "I intend to enlighten you." He declared as he pressed his hand over her mouth, allowing his blood to blend with the water in her mouth.

"You will become like us... you were... curious about us, observing, learning, mocking us with your studies; now you can experience it firsthand instead.”

[fallesto]

Her fingers twitched once against the mattress, the final conscious signal from a body that had ultimately succumbed to the toxin that had slithered through her veins. The lazy rotations of the ceiling fan etched themselves into her fading vision, blurring, doubling, and then fading into darkness as her eyelids closed with the finality of a tomb. Her breath became shallow, her lips parting slightly around an unfinished syllable, the damp heat of the apartment enveloping her like a second skin.

She didn't dream. Not in the way that ordinary people did. Her unconsciousness was a black velvet void where memories emerged like corpses in a still pond, her father's bamboo sword cracking against her knuckles at the age of seven, the wet gurgle of a target's last breath in Osaka, the phantom weight of a flute she hadn't touched in decades. Tonight, the corpse drifting toward her bore Kagutsuchi's smile.

The first sensation she registered was the taste, coppery and something sickeningly sweet, clinging to her tongue like spoiled honey. Her eyelids peeled apart with the sticky reluctance of old tape, the morning light piercing through the gap in her curtains with the precision of a scalpel. She blinked against it, her lashes snagging on something crusted at the corners. The ceiling fan wobbled lazily above her, its uneven rotation casting distorted shadows across the water stain shaped like a screaming face that she had dubbed 'Landlord' last winter.

“Ugh.”

With a slow groan, she turned onto her side, her muscles protesting like rusty hinges. The sheets carried a faint scent of detergent, real detergent, not the stale remnants of vodka and sweat that typically lingered in her bedding. She squinted at the neatly arranged pile of clean clothes on the chair, the fabric crisp and devoid of wrinkles, as if it were mocking her very existence. What transpired last night was a mystery to her; did that idiot actually put her to bed, tidy up her place, and then leave? What a loser.

"Fucking hell."

The shower hissed to life even before she stood, steam curling around the bathroom door like a tempting invitation. She forced herself upright, her bare feet meeting floorboards that were suspiciously free of dirt. Every surface sparkled, no empty bottles lined up like tombstones, no cigarette butts drowning in old ramen cups. Even the damn spider had vanished. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her with a mix of suspicion and fatigue, dark circles under her eyes resembling smudged ink.

Stepping under the scalding water with a hiss, she let it wash away the grime. The soap had a lemon scent, unlike the cheap drugstore bars she usually kept. She scrubbed until her skin turned pink, trying to ignore the phantom sensation of hands that weren’t hers, hands that had touched her while she slept, rearranging her life like a dollhouse.

Dressed in clean clothes that actually fit, she padded into the kitchen. The fridge hummed, filled with groceries she had no recollection of buying. The first sip of water hit her stomach like a jolt, cold and clear, a stark contrast to the usual burn of morning whiskey. She despised how good it felt. Had her sister been here? She was the only other person with a key to her apartment, always fussing, always worrying, always helping. This place was immaculate, perfect, as clean as could be; she liked it. Maybe her sister had been around, because all she remembered was drifting off last night.

[fallesto]

He lay peacefully in his room, sprawled across the soft carpet like a forgotten marionette. The respirator emitted a gentle hiss with each breath, fogging the resin bubble in a steady rhythm. Outside, the sun sank beneath the horizon, casting a deep crimson hue on the velvet curtains, yet no light penetrated his sanctuary. His wild, flame-colored hair spread across the floor, entwined with stray threads from the carpet, while his tail lay motionless, its fluffy tufts flattened by his own weight. Once, an attendant had attempted to move him to the bed, only to discover him slumped over the opposite side by morning, his high-heeled boots comically hooked over the duvet. They never tried again.

His dreams were disjointed fragments, half-formed visions of towering libraries consumed by flames, the scent of charred parchment clinging to his whiskers. In one instant, he stood atop a mountain of ledgers, their pages fluttering like injured birds; in the next, he found himself submerged in a sea of caramelized sugar, the thick syrup clogging his respirator filters until he awoke with a muffled gasp. Yet, even this disruption failed to fully awaken him. His eyelids fluttered, his elongated neck twitched, and then he slipped away again, sinking back into the depths like a stone cast into a well.

Somewhere within the estate, a door clicked shut. The sound traveled through the ventilation system, distorted by distance and architecture, until it reached his ears as little more than a whisper. His ungulate ears twitched, once, twice, then fell still. The attendants were wise enough not to disturb him, but this noise was different. Sharper. Intentional. His fingers twitched against the carpet, the stitching of his glove straining over his knuckles.

A dream? No. The aroma of sandalwood and something earthy, reminiscent of crushed herbs, lingered at the periphery of his consciousness. He recognized that scent. The little ember had been here.

As he stirred awake, a small yawn escaped him here and there while he rolled around, finally managing to prop himself up. His arms hung limply at his sides, and his legs were bent as he pushed himself upright, feeling his back crack and ache. It felt as though he had been asleep for days, weeks, or even months, but in reality, it had only been a mere hour, just enough time for dinner to be prepared.

He yawned again, his yellow eyes fluttering open and shut in a sleepy haze as he slumped forward. Boots dragging on the floor, he trudged out of his room and down the hallway, where both servants and slaves avoided him at all costs. Upon entering the dining room, he plopped himself down at the table.

"Ugh."

He let out a huff, his head drooping lower and lower until it thudded onto the table. The smoke from his fur wafted through the air, and his tail flicked back and forth as he sat there. His newest slave was supposed to be promising; she had cost him a pretty penny, and he knew little about her. Some might call it a poor investment, but for him, money was limitless. She claimed she could cook and clean, and could be of service to him, so he needed to see for himself. Yawning once more, he had tossed her into the kitchens to work. His hand reached for the small golden service bell on the table, ringing it repeatedly to summon her with the meal she was supposed to have prepared.

"I’m ready to eat."

[tessofbaterilla]

What color is your aura?

Terracotta

canyons, woven rugs, bandanas, pottery pieces, matchsticks, cattails, broken nails. your essence is terracotta: you are a building storm, autonomous and resolute. you build your walls strong; no one can see your vulnerabilities, not when you keep them within your rich internal life. you are disciplined and devoted to your friends but rarely show them weakness in return. you are the guardian. you are the wolfdog. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of tawny, garnet, red, and brown, who share your strong resolve. you are also drawn to the open-minded souls mauve and honey, who will help you grow and show you that it is alright to be emotionally attached. however, you may struggle to get along with the withdrawn personalities of jade and chiffon who are self-doubting. Ganked from: @willofd Tagging: @lofirp (Jinbe, if not, muse of choice), @eclipsecrowned (Rouge or Dragon?), @fallesto (Killingham), @melodysian (Isai), @melpcmene (Hancock), @medicus-felini, basically everyone who wants to do this one.

[fallesto]

The fish shimmered on the smooth river stones, their scales reflecting sunlight like a scattering of coins. His muzzle dripped with river water as he stepped back to admire their catch, five robust trout lined up with military precision next to Ell'Hanna's three. His tail gave a single, contented flick. Hunting had always been a meditative experience, whether with a blade or claw, but this felt different. There was no ceremony, no clan expectations. Just a silent understanding between predator and prey, with the river's gentle murmur as their sole witness.

He shook himself vigorously, sending droplets flying in a wide arc, then padded after Ell'Hanna as she collected the fish in a woven reed basket. The path back to her hut meandered through a grove of young birch trees, their leaves whispering secrets above. He stayed close enough that his shoulder occasionally brushed against her thigh, not for protection, but because the contact anchored him in this unfamiliar new life. The scent of moist earth and crushed grass rose with each step, blending with the metallic tang of fresh catch.

He sat and simply watched her. The way her fingers maneuvered the knife along the fish’s spine, quick, precise flicks of her wrist, the blade gliding effortlessly beneath the silver scales, was captivating. She didn’t falter, didn’t second-guess the angle or pressure. Each movement was intentional, efficient, as if she had performed this task a thousand times before. Perhaps she had. He tilted his head slightly, ears twitching at the rhythmic scrape of metal against flesh. There was something almost melodic about it, a quiet percussion of survival.

[mangafascination]

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

Swiftly, he grasped the cat by the scruff, its fur slipping through his fingers like wisps of smoke. It felt weightless in his hand. He lifted it to his eye level, its claws extended, curled against its belly in a feigned submission, and its pupils absorbed the dim light entirely. "You're pushing my limits, creature," he growled, his voice rough like gravel scraping against stone.

"You had one damn purpose in this world; I summoned you for a straightforward task, and you failed."

His grip on the cat's scruff tightened, its fur chilling against his calloused fingers, like clutching a shadow made real. The creature blinked slowly, as if being held by an immortal warlord was just a minor annoyance in its otherwise dull life. "You were meant to stay," he spat, his breath ragged from the effort of restraining himself from hurling the creature into the nearest crumbling wall. "To curl at her feet like a worthless ornament. To, to purr at her when the silence became unbearable."

The memory of Iris's disdain for pets, her nose crinkling at the mere thought, should have deterred him, but desperation had etched its own reasoning into his mind. He had envisioned the cat lounging across her lap like a living accessory, its soothing purr filling the void where conversation had once flourished. Instead, the creature had slinked away, abandoning its duty like a cowardly guard, leaving Iris at the mercy of echoing corridors and the slow decay of memory.

"How did you mess that up!"

He let the cat go suddenly, allowing it to twist in the air before landing softly on its paws. "Fetch the hound," he ordered, his voice grating like rusty hinges. The cat nonchalantly licked its paw, showing no concern. "Now, these two are with me; if you intend to kill one, at least spare the other."

He mentioned the succubus, noting that the two fools were also with him, insisting that both should not be harmed. The words slipped from his mouth like cheap wine, tart and lacking substance. One of them looked up at him, her delicate pink fingers nervously tugging at the frayed edge of her ribbon, while her twin clung to her arm like a shipwrecked sailor to a piece of driftwood. The cat simply yawned as he nudged it to go find the dog.

"Fools, if you think you’re going to gain your freedom now, think again. Bring that mutt to me immediately; you’ve both managed to irritate me."

[fallesto]

He lingered in the water, not really washing anything specific, merely allowing his hands to glide through the steam as if he could purify the island from his very being. The surface of the hot spring quivered with his slightest motion, warping the reflection of a visage he no longer recognised, now softer, strange in the way the water embraced the contour of his jaw. He submerged his fingers beneath the surface once more, observing them rise pale and wrinkled, pondering if this was how sinners disintegrated in hell.

The water undulated as he lifted a hand to sweep damp strands of hair from his face, yet the strands continued their descent. They extended beyond their usual length, more lustrous, clinging to his collarbones like creeping vines. He scowled, his fingers halting mid, action. A memory flickered: Eizen had once teased that Shugen’s hair would never grow beyond his shoulders, not with how frequently he sheared it with his own blade after executions, as if trying to cut away the odor of death. But now it cascaded over his shoulders in dark streams, heavy with the weight of minerals.

Fuchi's footsteps crunched closer, but he remained still. His reflection in the water’s surface wobbled, distorted by steam and the subtle tremor in his own hands. The face gazing back was both his and not, his jaw's sharp angles had softened, his throat smooth where the tendon used to protrude when he clenched his teeth. A droplet of water trickled down the slope of his neck, and he observed, detached, as it disappeared into the hollow between unfamiliar collarbones.

Then he caught it as Fuchi’s steps stumbled. The name that was called seemed to have faded from his lips. The figure in the water was Shugen, the familiar set of those shoulders, the exact way they held themselves even in stillness, and yet not. The steam wrapped around a form that had no right to exist, a form that contradicted every rigid contour Fuchi had ever linked to his comrade.

Hips rounded where they had once been sharp; the curve of a waist where there had only been the taut flatness of muscle. Water cascaded off skin that appeared softer now, as if the island’s warmth had melted away the old Shugen and reshaped him into something… different.

“Hmm?”

Shugen did not see, she was a she, lean, curvy, with good hips, slender, and perky breasts, a perfect woman as she bathed. The realization crept upon her like a slow tide, bit by bit, first the weight of her hair against her back, thicker than it had ever been, then the strange slope of her collarbones catching the steam, light in a new way. Her hands, still rough from a lifetime of gripping a sword, hesitated over the curve of her own chest, fingertips grazing skin that should not have existed. The water rippled as she raised one arm, observing how muscle now tapered into a wrist too delicate, a forearm too smooth. She pressed her palm flat against her sternum, feeling the quick flutter beneath, still her heartbeat, still her rage, but the cage that contained it had completely transformed.

“Fuchi?”

[fallesto]

He absorbed every word she uttered while remaining on the grass, his small rabbit form quivering not from fear but from an overwhelming rage that felt as if it could tear him apart. Each word she articulated was like a needle piercing his pride, every syllable a new humiliation. What a bitch. That thought seared through him, sharper than any curse he could conjure in this miserable, squeaking body. Yet, the most infuriating part was the warmth of her fingers nestled between his ears, how his treacherous body leaned into her caress against his will, calmed by the soothing rhythm of her fingertips.

"You dare," he attempted to snarl, but the sound that emerged was a high, quivering chirp. His ears, his ears, flattened against his head in fury. He lunged at her wrist, teeth bared, only for her to flick his nose with an infuriatingly nonchalant finger. The sting was minimal, but the humiliation of it sent him staggering back onto his haunches, paws clutching at his twitching snout.

"I mock others, but this, this is beyond mockery!"

He rose up on his hind legs, his paws resting on his waist, or where his waist ought to have been, in a stance that could have been regal if not for the way his fluffy tail quivered behind him like a disgruntled banner. His ears, though currently pinned back in anger, still possessed a ridiculous grace, their tips glimmering in the sunlight like fragile parchment. "You insolent creature," he attempted to roar, but it came out as a flurry of rapid, indignant chitters.

"Don’t dictate my actions, I’ll have you killed!"

He stood there, huffing, his ears erect and proud, or as erect and proud as a rabbit's ears could be, which was, to be fair, quite a lot. They twitched at the faintest sound, revealing his annoyance like a flag signaling impending conflict. He had aimed to loom, to command the space between them with the sheer force of his presence. Instead, he appeared more like an overstuffed pillow with a chip on its shoulder, his fur fluffed up in indignation.

"DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT, YOU DON’T COMMAND ME!"

His nose crinkled in irritation. His whiskers quivered with indignation. He opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut with a sharp click of his teeth, recalling the pointlessness of words. Instead, he pounded a hind paw against the grass. Once. Twice. The action lost its royal flair, less a princely call for attention, more a childish stomp that sent a lone blade of grass fluttering onto his own head.

"Don’t awaken the dragon and you do this!"

He glanced back at his fluffy tail, that witch!, and instinctively attempted to kick it, as if the troublesome appendage were to blame for his predicament. His hind leg missed completely, causing him to spin awkwardly in a clumsy pirouette. He stumbled, regained his balance, and shot a furious glare at Nunnally, as if she had orchestrated this embarrassment just for him.

"I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD!"

He disregarded her and dashed away. His small paws propelled him in frantic, jerky bursts, scattering tufts of grass as he zigzagged through the clearing. The camp, his men were just beyond the tree line. They would recognize him. They had to. He was their prince, their dragon, not some... some fluffy monstrosity. The wind whipped past his ears, his ears!, making them flap comically against his skull as he sprinted.

“I’ll have this entire forest set ablaze!”

The tree roots rose like twisted fists to trip him. He stumbled, rolled, and regained his footing without losing speed. His heart pounded in his chest, too fast, too small, but he pressed on.

He dropped to all fours and sprinted, not with the elegance of a predator, but with the frantic, jerking hops of prey. His paws barely grazed the ground before launching him forward again, his ears streaming behind him like flags in a storm. The campfire smoke thickened ahead, curling between the trees in lazy spirals, but the first scent that hit him wasn’t ash or burnt meat, it was horse. The musky, overpowering stench flooded his nostrils, sharper than he’d ever experienced, causing his nose to twitch uncontrollably. He skidded to a stop just before the treeline, his claws digging into the soft earth.

[diaalmih]

[fallesto]

@fuxhi

[fallesto]

The steam wrapped around his shoulders like a spectral embrace, the mineral-laden waters doing little to ease the tension knotted in his muscles. He had washed away the blood from his hands, Eizen's, the Dōshi's, his own, but the stains beneath his nails lingered, dark as ancient sins. Across the spring, a moss-covered statue of a forgotten deity observed with vacant eyes, its face half-buried in the earth as if the island itself wished to consume all traces of compassion.

The berries exploded with tartness on his tongue, their juice blending with the metallic aftertaste of blood still lingering on his teeth. He chewed absentmindedly, hardly noticing the flavor, his eyes locked on the chipped ceramic cup in his hands, a remnant from some long-gone pilgrim, now filled with water drawn from the hot spring's edge. Steam spiraled lazily, momentarily obscuring his reflection before clearing to unveil eyes like fractured flint.

He undressed and plunged into the water, the scalding heat piercing his skin like a thousand needles. He didn’t gasp or flinch, just allowed the pain to blossom across his shoulders as he sank deeper, until the water enveloped his head. Beneath the surface, the world dulled into something bearable.

No voices. No corpses. Just the muted thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears.

As he glided languidly through the steaming water, his motions were fluid yet utterly lacking in joy. The heat ought to have scalded him, should have seared away the numbness that clung to his bones, but instead, it only weighed him down, as if the water thickened with each stroke. His fingers grazed something hidden beneath the surface, a piece of bone, possibly human, smoothed by centuries of mineral accumulation. He let it slip from his fingers without a hint of curiosity.

When he broke the surface, gasping more out of habit than necessity, he brought another handful of water to his lips. This time, he savored it fully, the metallic taste of blood that wasn’t his own, the sulfurous murmur of the earth’s depths, and something else lurking beneath, sweet and cloying. Like decaying fruit left too long under the sun. He swallowed instinctively, then froze as an unfamiliar warmth, unlike the spring’s heat, spread through his chest. It was neither comforting nor natural. His heart stuttered, then thudded violently against his ribs.

“ugh.”

@fuxhi

[vixvaporub]

This Monster Wants to Eat Me | Watashi wo Tabetai, Hitodenashi by Sai Naekawa – Chapter 29 ≋ Reconstitution  

[fallesto]

@lured-into-wonderland

[fallesto]

He simply lounged at the table, yawning, a slow, wide stretch that opened his draconic jaws enough to reveal the faint shimmer of his needle-like teeth. His breath momentarily fogged the bubble. The ship’s galley had laid out a feast worthy of a divine celebration: seared scallops adorned with gold leaf, fruit sculpted into blooming roses, and a whole roast peacock displayed with its feathers fanned out like a grotesque trophy. He gazed at the spread with half-closed eyes, his long neck sagging until his chin nearly brushed the plate.

"That’s why, I believe you are going to be worth a lot in a few months time, unless you die before that, hopefully you listen and obey."

The Marines operated in perfect, fearful silence. Their gloved hands quivered as they meticulously arranged the cutlery, adjusting each fork’s angle as if their lives depended on it, because they did. One man misaligned a butter knife by the slightest margin and instantly froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he braced for the whip-crack of reprimand. But the creature merely blinked at him, then flicked a clawed finger toward the misaligned utensil. The Marine hurried to correct it, his breath catching like a startled horse.

"A simple task for a mindless slave, so get to work, your purpose is to serve and tend to me."

As he observed his new slave, a sleepy amusement flickered behind his half-closed eyes, reminiscent of a candle fighting to remain lit. She was… amusing. Unlike the typical cowering, trembling beings he gathered, this one had the audacity to speak, not in the begging, submissive manner slaves were expected to, but with a casual defiance that should have warranted a swift slap into the ocean. Yet, he found himself too weary to reprimand her. Moreover, watching her stroll around his makeshift dining arrangement with the nonchalance of a stray cat claiming its territory was strangely entertaining.

"You’re a handful," he muttered, his words slurring slightly as his chin dipped toward his chest. His bubble momentarily clouded with another yawn. "Slaves don’t receive names unless they earn them. You haven’t." The tip of his tail flicked against the deck, the movement languid, like a metronome winding down.

As he began to eat and drink while the ship sailed, his actions were sluggish, burdened by fatigue. The wineglass in his clawed hand tilted precariously as he raised it, golden liquid sloshing near the edge before he managed a slow, deliberate sip. The flavor was rich, some vintage from the deepest cellars of Mariejois, no doubt, but he registered none of it. His tongue absently brushed against his teeth, more focused on the dull ache behind his eyes than on the taste.

"It will take a few days to reach my estate, stay with me; the marines won’t trouble you unless you attempt to escape, which would be unwise. I’ll eliminate you before you even think of plotting against me."