Characters: The Phoenix and The Moth @twixtbound
Content Warning: NSFW. Contains violence, blood, consensual sexual interaction, bondage.
"Breathe me in and forget to exhale."
Smoke sprawls across pallid skin, the curl of his smile caught in the swirling wisps exuding over his lips. The tilt of his head casts a shadow over his face, igniting his eyes—embers trapped in kohl. His bronze-skinned hand glides over a slender arm, fingers moulding to the shape of muscle and bone.
Up, up, up…
A slender blade punctures the centre of a palm, pinioning the limb to the rough wood. The quake of muscle in the body pressed between him and the wall draws his attention downward. His lips purse with a croon of pity and false soothing, yet his eyes burn with fresh flame newly stoked.
"Mine."
The single word hums against an ear, vibrating down the spine of his moth. Pleasure burns through him, fingers twitching to pluck delicate strings until they snap.
Another blade slips from the sheath strapped to his thigh. The leather encasing his body designed to move with him like a second skin, to withstand the unruly heat burning in his core.
He can never stop at only one.
The second hand joins the first, fingers interwoven, and that blade driven home without so much as a word of warning. He wants uncertain anticipation coiling like a snake in his moth's gut —to watch pain chase itself through his eyes until it bleeds out over his face as it does down his arms.
Fingers paint, smearing dark blood across pale skin, tracing over shadowed veins and streaking long down a breastbone. Lips tremble and part—an invitation without true intention.
His.
"Mine."
He claims that offer, a theft formed of mouths combined. A slow inhale steals breath, sound, sense. The invading sweep of his tongue savours the wreckage he's crafted. The bite of his teeth turns their kiss to a darkened wine.
Heat flares through him with the hook of his fingers into the waist of the pants now in his way —the last shred of modesty clinging to his pinned moth. The blade slices along heaving ribs, and the moth dances on tip toe, his wings bleeding out onto the floor.
A thumb presses into the cut, joining the many already marring his moth's torso. A reminder of their fun earlier in the evening, when argument led to their current predicament. The answering groan drives him. Ties pull loose and cloth slinks down slender legs, left to gravity's claws.
He crowds in close against his moth, lips a whisper against his ear. The blade scratches promises along his lower rib, the tip sinking deep to mark each hitch of breath. A lethal ellipsis carved down his abdomen and ending in the heat of his hand coiling around his moth's blood-soaked cock.
"Mine."
A fine line lies between pleasure and pain—one he crosses with brutal finality.
The bite of metal through battered skin punctuates each stroke of his opposing hand. The sink of his teeth persists—against a pale ear, into the softness of a lip, the angle of a jaw. He grants no mercy, no hesitation. The moth had his say, and now all rules but one will shatter at their feet.
The remaining rule he will hold the moth to, again and again. This twisted dance of agony melding with ecstasy delights him. The way the moth bends, dissolving into the ruin offered up by the demand of his hands, his blade. He feasts on the sight of him— the glazed expression in his eyes, the spattering of broken sounds from his lips.
That inevitable shattering when the two no longer divide.
"Mine."
Mercy comes only in the oblivion granted when the world goes black.
Characters: The Phoenix and The Raven.
Content Warning: Mind fuckery; Violence
…Down in the dark he dwells…
The change in the forest grows more palpable every day. The Ghostlands steadily heal, and the clinging gloom flees the rising dawn. Such pockets now only linger in the terrible places, where the trauma runs deep. Mother’s bones tremble; the ingrained taint meets fresh insult. The ground turns, pushing out ashes. The grace of air casts sparks, igniting what should’ve been forgotten.
Hunkered down in the security of the shadows, he watches the Sun come and go. Once, twice. A third time–like he could not stay away. Yet for all the fire in that one’s soul, he could not see through this darkness to his hidden core. He creeps out only when the warmth the Sun left behind has dwindled into near nothing. A trace of heat under his palm that his own nature banishes with his thoughtless touch.
…His voice electric in the static noise…
“Jade.”
The soft call of his name sends chills down his spine. The turn of his head meets the trickle of cool fingers around his warm throat. Spectral in nature–or a figment of his imagination. Jade rubs at his throat, fingers bumping over the scars set in a starburst pattern in his skin. A mark he shares and —though his lies say otherwise— a scar that isn’t his own. The burden of silence is not his to carry, but he does.
The Shadow speaks with his voice, a warmth stolen and a thought best left forgotten. Ire fires in his gut. His gloved hands fist at his sides. He could go back. Back to the phantom safety found in the group of people he’d strode away from in the Row. A ruse that will bring harm to them as well as himself thanks to his presence, his ash scenting their existences.
A lingering song he cannot resist.
…Drive into us…
A scrape screeches in his ears. The street slants beneath his feet. His fingers claw for the solidity of marble tipping into obscurity. The city falls away into a swirl of fog rising to catch him. The obliteration of his senses carries madness. Phantom faces rise in the smoke, pressing close to him and leaving their chill behind. Their touch burns him, a different sort of burn than those his embers create–spikes of ice drawing sigils into his flesh, suppressing his flame.
The binds around his wrists fracture, splinter into shards of gold and emerald. Alarm flares in his mind, but the grapple for the pieces of his bracers proves fruitless.
The Shadows never disappoint.
…These stakes born of broken claws…
Lips spread on a soundless cry. The splinters of gold and emerald drive into him, piercing his flesh one slicing fragment at a time. They fracture further, spiral out as vines growing in his skin, their thorns biting deep. Agony pierces the darkness, and the fog swells.
He’s drowning. Suffocating. Endless.
“Jade.”
The word is an insult on the lips that speak it. No name to stain his tongue–only a stab at the lack of identity the thief has. Another pain to crawl into his soul and remind him…
Character: Ghost, pair of guards.
Content Warning: Murder, thievery.
Keep your eye on me.
A hand slides down the wood of a door, a simple interruption in the planned path to a desired destination. A few days of watching led him here, prepared to claim what he’s already decided is his. Silver eyes glimmer a hiccup before his figure melts toward the floor.
Keep your breath slow.
A fog seeps, a flowing river of dreaded mist beneath the cracks. No one ever wards for the air, for the mist. Everyone breathes and the motion inside the flat speaks loudly to the fog infiltrating the space. Every breath, every motion, quivers the slowly thickening mist. A cough, a shake of their heads. Curious, what is this? What’s going on? Is there a window open?
Keep your wits about you.
They never do. The tug at their souls elicits immediate fear, a dance of panic tapped out by the wayward feet of the men meant to guard. The mist’s little glacial fingers pluck at the roots of their being, unfasten mind from matter. The perfect assassin is one never seen, one the victim can barely wrap their minds around. Life is such a precious commodity. The mist sighs and a body thumps against the floor.
Keep taking me on.
Arms flail against the grey mist. The catch in the remaining guard’s throat accompany widening eyes. He stills in that space where the mind catches up with the inevitable. A wraith-like face ghosts across the mist hovering before the guard’s eyes. His scream locks up his throat, breath burning for release from his lungs. -No.- Silence permeates the room.
Keep taking me down.
Just two. The mist drifts through every ilm of the flat, stroking over each item it finds, seeking signs of life, of thought. Minds to touch, and yet all the Phantom Fog finds now is the quiet aether inherent in items blessed with intricate spell work. The pair of faces newly caught in the mist’s web open mouths on silent screams. Their features contort with the agony of death, of regret for what they left behind. One last view of what they gave their lives for and the fog swallows them whole.
Keep your words in my mouth.
If an eye follows him now, they find the fog coalescing in a single space. The mist spirals upward, forming the thief’s figure and thickens out. Solid is a curious state, close enough that most never notice he’s not. One hand curls around the hilt of a long sword, drawing it from its resting place. The other hand gestures, the empty corpses bursting into flames, a combustion centralized and heated to the point ash is all that remains in short order.
I am at the end of the world.
The ash swirls into the fog in his wake, a strange cloak that follows his silent footsteps through the flat. Glowing silver eyes scan the place, taking note of what else lies here. He was asked for only the one item, so no other becomes disturbed. No trace remains of his presence by the time he slips beneath the door. Not even the remains of the guards placed to prevent thieves like him.
Fictember Prompt 2: Ostentatious
Characters: Yraseth and Narriaq with mention of Dietrich and Ehrunae.
Content Warning: None
Note: On hiatus from FF RP currently and slowly picking at prompts when I can. Enjoy some WH40k related writing.
"Lord Narriaq." Yraseth's voice pitched the greeting low enough to be heard but also quiet enough to be ignored, if the leader of his Shrine opted to do so.
Hierarch Narriaq's seat stood central in the Cruiser's temple hall in a place of honor overlooking grand floors stretching out to meet floor to ceiling windows. Gilt inlay and flickering gemstones carved into the shape of fangs decorated the dais beneath a lavish pile of cushions. The Hierarch's head lifted, blond hair sliding away from his face with a chime of the silver blades woven into the lengths of his braids His dark red eyes studied Yraseth briefly before dropping away from him in favour of seeking out his cup of tea.
"You completed your task?" Narriaq asked, bringing the cup to his lips for a sip. "I heard you brought back prey."
"Mm." Yraseth grunted in reply. "We did complete your orders and found something of mine along the way."
"A mon-keigh?" The sneer in Narriaq's voice resonated clearly.
Yraseth gave a single nod of his head with no desire to elaborate further on this choice. Few of his kind kept humans alive for long, let alone scarcely tormented.
Narriaq sighed and waved a dismissive hand. "Just see that -it- does not disrupt anything." The warning was clear in the stern words. A pause ensued for a few breaths. "Tell me what you learned of the traitor?"
"The research centre we searched held a few last messages in its data banks." Yraseth stated immediately, preferring to latch on to work details over trying to explain his choice in pets. "According to the second to last message, the traitor is trying to flee the system."
"Coordinates?"
Yraseth nodded. "Two sets that match planets. I've set us to emerge into the materium near the first of the two mentioned."
"Your tone is stiff. What aren't you telling me?" Narriaq quirked up an eyebrow, his dark eyes returning to Yraseth's face.
"Erioch."
That earned a nose wrinkle from Narriaq.
"We won't know where exactly until we're in the system." Yraseth finished.
"The Watch Fortress, Yraseth." Narriaq cursed under his breath. Raiding that Fortress was not the smartest thing to do without some extra hands from Commorragh. A sound strategy and some fodder they were willing to throw at the Marines to distract them could help immensely.
"My Incubi will welcome the battle." Yraseth's lips curled at the corners, his eyes narrowing into slivers of deep, swirling blue and black.
"Understandable, but that is a training facility, and we've no way of knowing just how many are present within. I won't throw your Incubi into a trap if we can help it."
The elite Incubi warriors might have little issue going toe to toe with the Marines, but the sheer volume of them might prove a problem. The end decision lay in Narriaq's hands, not Yraseth's. He was but one Klaivex in service to the Hierarch, and they would strike wherever he directed them to. The event of having the Hierarch aboard his cruisier was a rarity; it also brought other Klaivex and their squadrons on board or in neighbouring vessels joining his small fleet.
"If we utilize the other squad—"
"Yraseth." Narriaq cut across him, eyes leveling firmly on him. "We'll discuss strategy once we know more. Get us into Erioch unseen first."
"Of course, my lord." Yraseth dipped his head in deference and took a step back before turning on his heel to stride across the floor of the decadent temple. He didn't quite make the door when Narriaq's voice echoed after him.
"How is your sister, Yraseth?"
His back stiffened, head lifting to a haughty angle before he glanced over his shoulder, lips curled into a sneer. "Perfectly behaved."
Laughter slid from Narriaq's throat, amusement sparking like sunlight in the deep red of his eyes. "I bet. Preserved like a prize specimen in a glass cage does that to a body."
"Indeed, Sir." Yraseth bit out the agreement prior to vanishing out the door and letting it slide closed behind him. He had not failed to notice the reference to -his- sister, like she was no longer Narriaq's mate or stain in light of her recent sins.
Fictember Prompt 1: Resilience
Characters: Dusk (Leandre) and Dawn (Aurora).
Content Warning: War, rioting.
Note: On hiatus from FF RP currently, so enjoy some OC writing instead this month.
“Rise up! Rise up or see your souls damned for all eternity.” The former priest’s voice reverberated over the heads of the throng of people moving in chaotic response.
The packs of people reminded Dusk of wild dogs, moving in beat to a primordial desire that none of them truly understood. The drumbeat of their feet echoed the pulse in their veins, the hearts in their throats, and the rage on their tongues. They moved with one another, against one another. Blood meant everything and nothing when they came face to face. The frenzy mattered. The righteous emotion of either side resulting in the screech of metal and the thunder of destruction tearing apart the city they all resided in mattered. Explosions rocked the buildings that once scraped deep blue skies.
None of them looked up; none of them looked around. They tore their homes down together and hurled blame at each other.
Dusk stood sentinel atop the only building left standing, a central tower that marked where the research centre once stood. The buildings below him belched fumes, toxic as his presence and enough to dissuade the people from coming too close. Their wild sea of fighting bodies divided to rampage around him. No one saw him above them. His eyes narrowed, a storm unabated and tumultuous in their depths. Bile rose in his throat, an animosity hardening his heart.
“Leandre?” A woman’s voice slid into his mind, a sharp blade cutting through the mania surrounding him. “Come away. They must pay the price for their folly. Mother has willed it.”
“I cannot–” Dusk began, the words stilling on his tongue not a moment after he started the refusal. His brow knit together and his palm came to press against his chest as if the idea pained him.
She claimed his other hand, her grip warm as sunlight and the eyes his gaze rose to meet reminded him of the blue skies they could no longer see here. His sister smiled, reassuring and apologetic all at once. A tug on his arm encouraged him to take a step toward her.
“Aurora, please.” Dusk murmured, unsure of what he asked of her.
“This is not their end, Leandre.” Dawn’s hand lifted to set her palm against his cool cheek. “They will find their way, just not with us. Mother calls. The Gardens await us.”
The Gardens await us. The words repeated themselves in his mind, a temptation that fed dread into him all the same. His hand tightened on hers, head turning to cast a glance back at the burning buildings and the cacophony of people struggling within its collapsing walls.
The skies had grown into a maelstrom above them, a sickly hue of green, yellow, and brown gases coalescing into a thunder cloud that grew in size and strength by the minute. Rain fell, streaking along his cheeks and searing the ground upon contact. His last sight before Dawn tugged him into the umbra and away.
Dusk had fallen and with him, so too did Varilan City.
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
titsay
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
stormborns
annaxmalina
ellievsbear
